Brothers In Arms
by happyday girl
Summary: Tag to 'Emilie.' The story of Athos' experience with drug withdrawal is not a pleasant one, and Athos' night helping Emilie brings it all back to the surface. He recounts to D'artagnan the events of that terrible time when they thought they'd lost one of their own and could only stand by and watch - Set preseries with major hurt!Aramis and worried/angsty!Athos & Porthos. Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

The lit torches attached to the dank stone walls threw black shadows across the corridor as D'Artagnan made his way down the damp steps into the bowels of the dungeon, peering into each cell as he passed. It was nearing midnight, and his nose crinkled as he saw the rats begin making their own ways along the corridors in their search for food; one scuttled over his foot and darted into a large hole in the stonework, disappearing with a high-pitched squeak.

Moonlight shone from a barred window high on his left, the light filtering against the wall as the Gascon continued his search. Night time seemed to awaken the 'guests' of the dungeon, human and animal alike. Screams and shouts began echoing through the wall; the pitiful wails making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end- the portion of the dungeon he was in had only a few occupants, so many of the cells were eerily empty and quiet as he tried to remember the way to the one he was looking for.

As he passed another cell his eyes met briefly with a man who had his face pressed up against the bars, his hands clinging onto the rusted metal with white knuckles as his wide eyes followed the Musketeer before he turned a corner, finally spotting the cell he was looking for.

Constance looked up as he stood at the threshold, staring into the scene before him- Emilie was slumped on the hard bed in the corner, her arms curled around herself as she slept fitfully; her eyes moved under the lids in troubled sleep, and her legs were tucked under her, visible under her thin blanket, making the Gascon think of a small child in the midst of a nightmare.

'How is she?' he asked Constance, giving the woman a small smile as she nodded, leaning back against the damp wall.

'She'll live.' She answered, sighing as she pulled a thin blanket of her own across her legs. 'There was a lot of that drug to get out of her system. Athos seems to think she is out of the worst of it, but she still has a long way to go.'

D'Artagnan looked around, noticing for the first time that his friend was not there. 'Where is Athos?' he asked, voice reverberating on the walls.

'Gone for a drink, I think.' Constance replied, looking up at him. 'After he had to restrain her to stop her hurting herself as the drug left her he said he needed some air.' Both of them looked across to Emilie as she stirred, before she simply turned over with a sigh, facing the wall.

'He seemed a little...troubled, actually.' She continued, eyes on the young woman's back, mind flicking back to a few hours ago as she watched Athos desperately trying to placate and protect Emilie as she fought against her demons, his arms wrapped around her as she kicked and screamed. 'He didn't say anything, but I could tell by his eyes...like his mind was elsewhere, remembering something bad.'

'Oh?' D'Artagnan muttered, crossing his arms against his chest. 'Did he say where he was going?'

Constance looked to him and smiled. 'The first tavern he could get to, I'm sure.' D'Artagnan nodded, before stepping forwards and putting a hand on her shoulder.

'Are you going to be alright here?'

Constance smiled, nodding as she stretched and got into a different position. 'I'll be fine- she'll be asleep for a while yet, and the Queen has said I can spend as long as I please tending to Emilie as she recovers.'

The Gascon nodded and made his way from the room, his boots echoing along the stone corridor as he went. Constance sighed and leant back again on the cold wall, before continuing her vigil at Emilie's side.

* * *

Athos was not in the first tavern he came to, nor in the second or third- he was just starting to get worried when a fellow Musketeer mentioned that he had seen their leader, bottle in hand, staggering in the direction of the Garrison.

Puzzled, d'Artagnan made a slow walk through the cobbled streets of Paris in the direction of the Garrison- by the way Constance was talking about him being troubled, he wasn't sure if Athos really wanted company, but he had to try. He knew the others would do the same for him if he had seemed effected by something, after all.

He poked his head around the wooden door, trying to spot the swordsman in the darkness- none of the lanterns had been lit, so it was easy to spot the lone area of flickering orange light in the armoury. The Gascon took a deep breath as he made his way over, eyes slowly adjusting to the scant light.

The door was ajar, and as he gingerly stepped over the threshold D'artagnan could just about make out Athos in the darkness, staring into an unlit fire with a bottle of wine in his hands. He gently rapped against the wooden door frame with his knuckles, making the older man startle out of his reverie.

'Knock knock?' he muttered as he stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him. 'What are you doing sitting here in the dark?'

Athos, seeing there was no imminent threat in the darkness, settled back in his wooden chair and resumed staring into the empty grate. 'Thinking.' he answered curtly.

'And do you have to think in the dark and cold?' D'artagnan asked innocently, coming to a stop by his friend's side. 'You must be freezing.'

'I have wine,' Athos replied, showing him the bottle, 'it keeps me warm enough.'

'What, one bottle?' D'artagnan asked- he looked across and chuckled as Athos revealed two more full bottles next to him. 'Ah.' he nodded, before shivering and looking around. 'Well, three bottles is not going to sufficiently warm both of us- I'll get this fire going.'

'Do as you please.' Athos muttered, taking another swig of his bottle and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before resuming his silence as D'artagnan set about lighting a small fire in the grate. When he was done he pulled an old box from the corner of the room and set it next to Athos, who looked at him with a quirked eyebrow.

'Did I invite you to stay?' he asked.

'No, I invitied myself.' The Gascon replied, to which Athos snorted and took another draught of wine.

'I see.' he nodded, before warming his hands on the fire the was now crackling in front of the two of them. 'And why am I suddenly important enough to waste a night over?'

'I went to see Emilie,' D'artagnan started, watching Athos carefully as he continued. 'She seems to be getting over the worst of that drug.'

'Yes, she is...' Athos nodded, taking another gulp of wine.

'Constance mentioned you had to go and get a drink after restraining her, when she was struggling and screaming?'

'I...had to get some air. I hate dungeons at night, anyway.' Athos sidestepped.

'Constance said you seemed troubled before you left,' D'artagnan pressed, 'like you were remembering a bad time from the past'.

Athos looked across at him, a warning look in his eyes. 'I'm fine. I just needed to get some air, is all.'

'And before we all left Aramis said you had some experience in the area of helping people out of situations like Emilie was in,' the Gascon said, noting Athos' eyes now positively flashing with warning, but he continued nevertheless- he knew if he did not press, Athos would not tell him anything. 'What did he mean?'

'Its nothing to do with you,' Athos growled, emptying his bottle in one gulp before reaching down and picking up another and uncorking it. 'Stop asking so many questions.'

'I just want to help,' D'artagnan muttered, shrugging. 'You do seem troubled, like you have a great weight on your mind- why else would you want to be alone in the dark with your thoughts?'

'I just did not want to be around people tonight.'

'Exactly- why not? Why do you have such experience with people who had been drugged?'

'D'artagnan I'm warning you- back off.' Athos growled, sitting back in his chair. 'You said it yourself- I wanted to be alone.' he added, emphasising the last word in particular.

D'artagnan sat back on his box, his stubbornness kicking in- he wanted to know what was wrong with his friend, and by his reaction he knew it was something bad. 'I'm not leaving until you tell me- talking about it can really help.'

'I don't want to talk about it.' Athos muttered. 'It's in the past.'

'Well obviously its not, as you're still thinking about it- please, just talk to me.'

The two men stared at each other, the flickering light of the fire the only light, before Athos finally sighed and wiped a hand down his face.

'I had pushed it to the back of my mind since it happened,' he started, voice barely more than a whisper. 'Tried not to think about it,even when it threatened to come back to the surface...but tonight...tonight I couldn't stop going back there, to that horrible time.' He looked back to the fire, and d'Artagnan could see that even now his friend's mind was replaying a memory that was troubling to him.

'What happened?'

'I just couldn't stop thinking about what happened to him, and the events after that day...'

'Athos, what happened?' D'artagnan prompted softly, eyes narrowing in concern as Athos shivered despite the heat from the fire and took another swig of wine. 'Why don't you start at the beginning?'

'I have never told the whole story, except toTreville when he had to write a report for the king...and even then I omitted some details that were too painful for me to recount...' Athos muttered, before taking a deep breath and looking across at D'artagnan.

'It happened about two years before you joined us...' he started, voice low. 'Aramis, Porthos and myself had been tasked with returning some signed papers from the King to a Comte about eighty miles outside the city. It should have been easy, and indeed the mission itself went off without incident. It was on the way back that...that it happened.'he faltered into silence as his mind whirred back to that fateful day.

'Athos, its alright,' D'artagnan smiled, nodding at him to continue. Athos stooped and picked up a wine goblet from the floor he was intending to use himself before deciding to just drink from the bottle, and handed it to the younger man.

As he filled the glass he took another great, steadying breath- he knew he had to tell someone, especially now his demons had surfaced with a vengeance. He cleared his throat and sat back, before he began to tell his tale of the worst month he had ever experienced as a Musketeer, and as a friend.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed that!**

 **This is the set up chapter- the next chapter will into detail of what happened those years ago...**

 **So, just to warn there will be lots of Aramis whump, as well as some whump and lots of angst for Athos and Porthos, and lots of brotherly protection and love, as usual!**

 **Thanks for reading- please review, I'd love to know what you thought of this opening chapter!**

 **Next chapter up soon!**

 **X**


	2. Chapter 2

The morning had started with a warm sun and blue skies, bearing down on the quaint village and casting a refreshing dappled glow onto the three men slowly making their way around a wide pond by the town square. Herons skimmed the cool water and Aramis watched from his horse, fixed, at a raft of ducklings bobbing about on the water, watched over by their mother.

Their day had begun at dawn, with the prospect of reaching the city by late afternoon to give their report to Captain Treville before joining him and the rest of the Garrison up at the Palace, where the King had laid out a banquet for a visiting dignitary.

Now it was perhaps ten in the morning, and the City was still over fifty miles away- Aramis would blame it on sleeping in late due to a rather incessant and over-enthusiastic owl outside his window. Porthos would blame their lateness on a unfortunate coupling of warm and decidedly off-tasting ale and a small bowl of shellfish he had consumed the night before.

Athos would blame it on waiting over an hour for his two friends to arise from a drink-induced slumber, the remnants of their late-night card game and scattered wine bottles strewn on the table they slept near. He would go further and blame it on the half an hour breakfast he had been forced to endure at a nearby tavern as Porthos and Aramis tried to sober up enough to continue the last leg of their journey. Not that he would ever tell Treville that was the reason for their lateness, of course.

He looked across at Porthos, chuckling to himself as he saw the man had a decidedly green glow about him.

'You alright?' he asked, trying not to laugh as Porthos turned to him with bloodshot eyes.

'I'll be alright once we're home,' he muttered, stretching on his horse. 'Whose idea was it to drink that funny green stuff?'

'Yours, I believe, my friend!' Aramis chuckled, moving to his friend's sides. 'What I want to know is how did I end up with three separate decks of cards when I only came with one and we were the only ones playing?'

'Who knows, Mis,' Athos shrugged.

'Doesn't really matter though- I saw that one of the new decks have been rigged, so that's a bonus for the next time we play with the Red Guards!'

'One day you're going to get us all arrested, you know that...' Athos muttered, rolling his eyes.

They rode on in silence as they made their way through the town square and into the town itself- the pretty houses were sheathed in the morning sun, and women, men and children milled around, going about their lives in a quiet hustle and bustle.

Suddenly, Aramis breathed in deeply, sniffing the air as a familiar smell caught his nose. 'Ahh, sausages!' he sighed, to which Athos sighed in irritation.

'No- you had breakfast two hours ago!'

'But sausages!' Aramis whined, sniffing again. 'And bacon! You love bacon!'

'I know I do, but if you're still hungry I have an apple in my pack you can have,'

'But I'm not hungry for an _apple!'_ Aramis muttered, affronted. 'I'm hungry for sausages!'

'Aramis...' Athos warned, to which Aramis batted his eyelashes and slowly made his way to a small wooden contraption to tie his horse to. 'Come on- surely you can last another few hours?'

'We can take some back for the others!' Aramis suggested, to which Porthos snorted.

'They'll be cold by the time we get back!'

'No, I meant raw ones, you dolt! Aramis grinned, before getting off his horse and looking up at Athos. 'I'll only be a few minutes, and I'll bring you back a bun with a cherry on top from that bakery over there?'

Athos sighed again, but Aramis knew he had won by the way his friend's lip curled ever so slightly upwards. 'I won't be long!' he promised again, smacking Athos' thigh and wandering off, Porthos in tow.

Athos climbed off his horse, lamenting his choice of friends, and after tying up his horse he walked slowly round the small carts and stalls offering their wares. The sun was now shining brightly, promising a fine day, and soon the small market area was heaving with people moving two and fro.

He stepped sideways to allow two women to pass, before resuming his slow walk around the perimeter, watching for danger; a job his mind oft turned to when in a crowd.

The throes of people made watching individual faces quite hard as he passed- once or twice he was even roughly pushed out of the way by an impatient person as they battled to get into the small shops.

The smell of baking bread, sizzling sausages and the sickly smell of raw fish all encapsulated into a small space made his eyes water- he looked up as he heard a small shriek, perhaps of panic or alarm; he relaxed when he saw it was just an excited child playing with her friends.

Turning around, he made his way back to his horse, but not before purchasing a small skin of water from a stall; he drank deeply as he looked around, seeing if he could spot Aramis or Porthos making their way back to the horses.

He cast his eyes away from his immediate vicinity and onto the small square beyond the market, to where a large fountain stood. He frowned as his eyes connected with a scruffy-looking man with dirty brown hair and dark eyes who was looking straight at him; the man wore a curious expression, as if he knew him. The two men stared at each other, ignoring everyone else who milled about between them.

Athos' mind whirred as he tried to remember if he had seen this man before- he did look slightly familiar, now he thought about it, but as if he remembered him from a half-formed memory from years ago. Certainly he did not know him from any recent experience.

He stepped backwards into the shadows, not taking his eyes off the man as he moved behind a stone pillar- the man seemed to expecting this, as he smiled broadly as the two men continued to stare at each other. Athos frowned again, confused as to why the man did not move forwards if he thought they knew each other... he had just made his mind up to confront the man, to at least ask if they knew each other, before the man did something that made his skin crawl despite the warmness of the day.

He brought his hand up and waved at him, his eyes still boring into the Musketeer's. His smile was now wide, and to Athos it seemed like he was now laughing from across the crowd of people. He then made his hand into a fist, before bringing one pointed finger to his lips, still curved in a smile, as if shushing him, or telling him to keep quiet.

Perhaps it was instinct, or the fact Athos was worried this man needed escorting to the nearest infirmary, but his hand curled around his pistol as the man then waved at him again, eyes wide with that strange expression still on his face.

Now Athos had had his fill; he stepped forwards to make his way through the crows, but before he could even step backwards a hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump out of his skin.

Aramis laughed, but before he could open his mouth to speak Athos grasped his forearms and moved them both round, so now Aramis was stood directly in front of Athos.

'Do you see that man? Over my left shoulder?' Athos muttered, fingertips digging into Aramis' arms.

'What man?' Aramis frowned, peering around.

'He's got dirty brown hair, standing by the fountain... he should be staring right at us- he has been for the last five minutes.'

'I don't see anyone, Thos.'

'What-' Athos turned himself, eyes scanning the crowd, trying to spot the man. But it was true...with a sinking feeling the Musketeer could see no sign of the man by the fountain.

'He was right there.' He muttered, pointing.

'What did he do?'

'Nothing- well, he smiled and waved at me...'

'He smiled and waved at you?' Aramis grinned, before shrugging and putting a small paper bag containing an iced bun in the swordsman's hands. 'Maybe he wanted to make friends?'

'No, it was odd- like he was threatening me, or something.'

'Well, if you see him again, point him out,' Aramis suggested, before the two of them made their way back to their horses, where Porthos was waiting.

'Come on, lets get out of here before it's too hot to do anything!'Aramis chuckled. Athos managed a small smile in reply, but his mind was still thinking back to the man by the fountain and a strange feeling was sinking into his stomach,making him uneasy as they left the town behind.

* * *

The next leg of the journey was quiet, save for Aramis cracking inane jokes and trying to guess the type of bird by their chirp.

The three of them were slowly making their way down a dirt path running along the edge of a forest; the coolness of the shade relaxed them as the sun beat down on the expanse of grass to their left.

By the look of the sun, Athos surmised a couple of hours had passed, but they still had about four hours left to go before they even had the city in their sights. He could almost taste the wine he would soon be enjoying before their next duty at the Palace...a crack of wood in the forest to his side made his head snap round, eyes scanning the woods.

Probably a deer, he told himself, before forcing himself to listen to Aramis as he regaled them with a step by step instruction on how to load playing dice.

They had not gone more than a few more miles when the path turned and wined into the forest itself- the branches cast dappled sunlight on their horses and cloaks as they made their way slowly through to the forest. This was a route they did often, as it was one of the quicker ways back to Paris from the area they had just left.

'Anyone fancy a petis four?' Aramis asked lightly, holding up a brown paper bag.

'Ooh, chuck us a chocolate one.' Porthos nodded, before opening his mouth wide- Aramis chuckled, sitting up straighter on his horse and aiming carefully; both men laughed as the cake sailed through the air and landed perfectly in Porthos' mouth.

Athos rolled his eyes, but smiled as Porthos chewed with a triumphant look on his face, one arm raised in celebration.

'Come on Athos, why-' Aramis' voice cut out as three men stepped from the forest and into their path. The Musketeers stopped, calming their startled horses as they stepped backwards, snorting.

One man stepped forwards, pushing dirty brown hair from his face- Athos' stomach dropped as he realised it was the man from the fountain back in the town.

'Off the horses.' he muttered, looking from one man to the other.

'Beg your pardon?' Aramis asked lightly, looking down at the three men.

'Sorry, I should have been more polite-' the man said, before reaching into his dirty, frayed coat and pulling out a gun. He pointed it at Aramis' chest, eyes narrowed. 'Off the horses _please_.' He said.

'Much better...' Porthos whispered sarcastically as he stepped down from his horse, eyes not leaving the weapon aimed at his friend.

'Who are you?' Athos growled as his feet hit the ground. 'Speak quickly!'

'I would have thought you'd remember me, Athos, of all people.' the man said, voice light as he lowered the gun on Aramis and instead looked at each man in turn. 'And you Porthos- don't remember me at all?' he muttered, sighing in disappointment as the Musketeer said nothing.

'Just tell us who you are!' Aramis said, eyes narrowed as the man came to a stop in front of him.

'Surely you know me, Aramis?'

'How do you know our names?' the medic growled, irritation rising as the man came close to his face, a horrible smile dancing on his lips.

'I know more than just that- I know what you've _done_.' The man growled, eyes now shining with danger.

'What the hell are you talking about?' Athos spat, anger now rising. 'You've threatened three members of the Musketeer regiment- be careful we don't take it any further!'

'Oh Athos, come now- surely we are past idle threats by now?'

'Who do you think we are?' Aramis muttered, confused. 'You have the wrong men- we don't know you.'

'Oh but I know you...I know what you did...' the man stepped backwards, coming to a stop beside his two cronies. 'And we don't forget- and we certainly don't forget.'

Before Athos had a chance to open his mouth the man aimed his gun at Aramis once more. 'We'll take him.' the man said, to which his two friends smiled sardonically and started to make their ways forwards.

'You touch one hair on his head and I'll cut you through.' Porthos promised, sliding in front of Aramis as the two men stopped.

'How touching-' the man muttered with a laugh.'-but they weren't coming for him.' Two clicks heralded his words, and Aramis looked to the side to see two loaded pistols pressed against the temples of Porthos and Athos.

'Step backwards, gents...' the man said, and the two musketeers begrudgingly took a couple of steps backwards, away from Aramis, who had gone very still, anger coursing through his veins.

'Very good.' the man muttered, before looking to Aramis, who now regarded him with a wary expression. 'Now Aramis- step forwards.'

'Who the hell are you?' Aramis growled, not moving.

'I said step forwards!' the man spat, before aiming his pistol at the Musketeer's chest once more. 'Now!'

'Alright, alright...'. Aramis muttered, looking to his side to see his friends still had guns aimed at their heads. 'You'll let them go?' he asked, turning back to the man.

'Of course.'

Aramis stepped forwards a little, heart beating fast. When he was level with the man he nodded, a smile on his face. 'Now turn around.' Aramis did as he was told, his eyes meeting with Athos and Porthos as the three men now faced each other. Before anyone else spoke the man drew back his gun hand and slammed the stock onto the side of Aramis' head.

Athos surged forward with an angry yell as Aramis sank to the ground, unconscious- he suddenly felt the gun move from his temple to under his chin and stopped short, glaring at the man from the fountain as he looked down at Aramis before looking back up to Athos and Porthos, both apoplectic with rage.

'Now you ride as fast as your horses will take you and you tell Treville what happened here- you will then wait for further instructions from us. You do not come looking for us and you do as we say when we say it!'

'So this is a ransom demand?' Porthos spat.

'No- this is much more than that. You tell Treville that it was Astor Dumont who finally bested one of his fine Musketeers!'

Athos breathed hard as Astor stepped forwards, over Aramis' body, and came to a stop in front of him; he pulled out an envelope and pushed it into Athos' hands. 'This is to be only opened by the King. If he does not comply you will never see Aramis again.' He said, voice hard now as Athos stared him down.

'Each day you delay you'll have less of him to rescue,' he added, scoffing as Porthos looked up, eyes wide. 'Best be going then, haven't you?'

'If you touch him I swear on all is holy-'

'You'll do what?' Astor goaded, eyes alight now. 'If you do what we say he'll be unharmed- now go!'

Athos swore under his breath as Aramis stirred, moaning weakly on the ground behind Astor- he felt the pistol press against his skull once more, and a hard, cold feeling of dread settled in his chest as his eyes met Aramis'.

'We'll come back for you.' he promised, before he and Porthos were forced to their horses at gunpoint.

Aramis sank back to the ground, his head a cloud of pain as he forced his eyes open to watch Athos and Porthos climb atop their horses and swing them round. As he watched them ride away a shadow fell across his eyeline.

Astor knelt on the grass beside him, and grasped a handful of Aramis' hair and pulled to force his head up. 'There they go- riding off without you...' he goaded, voice dark as Aramis fought to keep his eyes open. Seconds later he heard Astor chuckling before he let go of his head and stood up.

As darkness enveloped him once more Aramis heard all three men laughing, before Astor sighed and said loudly. 'We're going to have _so much fun_...'

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! MUCH more to come, with hopefully some twists and turns for you all :)**

 **Please review!**

 **X**


	3. Chapter 3

The thundering sound of hooves, interrupting the quiet of the afternoon, were what first alerted the sleepy keeper of the city gates that something was afoot- the two blue-clad Musketeers atop their horses, their faces set in hard masks in an expression he could not make out, made him spring into action before Athos could even open his mouth to shout at him to open the gates.

Porthos nodded to him as they passed without slowing their stride- his knees and stomach muscles hurt from their hard ride but he did not care; they needed to get to Treville. They carried on up the slight hill and into the city itself, scattering anyone who got in their way.

'Make way!'Athos growled as the people below them parted to let them though; the streets hushed as they passed, before an eruption of whispering began as they disappeared round the corner to get to the Garrison.

'Treville!'Athos shouted as they trotted into the stables- the two of them dismounted before their horses had stopped and were already halfway up the wooden steps before the Captain appeared from his office.

'What's happened?' Treville asked, frowning as the two men reached him.'Where's Aramis?'

'Someone took him,' Porthos growled, before pushing Athos' shoulder a little. 'Show him the letter!'

'He said it was for the King's eyes only...'

'Athos! I don't think-'

'If we don't play by the rules, who knows what might happen, Porthos!'

'They're not gonna know who opens it, will they!'

Athos sighed, trying to quell the bubble of panic that had been steadily growing in his chest since they had been forced to leave Aramis in the forest. He passed the letter to Treville, who opened it and threw the envelope to the floor, his lips in a tight line as his eyes roved the paper. Athos watched him closely, and frowned to himself when he saw the Captain pale as he read down the letter.

'Well?' he asked, eyes wide. 'What does it say?'

'Who gave this to you?' Treville's voice was low, but Athos had now known the Captain long enough to register a small, tightly-hidden tint of worry in his voice.

'It doesn't say?' Porthos muttered, frowning as he tried to crane his neck to look at the letter.

'No, it's not signed,' Treville replied, but he moved the letter of out of Porthos' eyeline.

'He said his name was Astor Dumont,' Athos relayed, looking at Treville. 'He also mentioned your name specifically.'

'Astor Dumont?'

'I believe his exact words were "Tell Treville that it was Astor Dumont who finally bested one of his fine Musketeers."' he replied gravely. 'He's taken Aramis and said unless the King complies with whatever the letter demands, we will never see him again.'

There was a short silence as Treville digested this. He cleared his throat and looked to both his men. 'I will take this letter to the King- you are to stay here until further notice.'

'We're coming with you- what does the letter say?' Athos muttered, heart thudding against his chest as Treville now had to the good grace to look shifty. 'What does it say?'

'I need to discuss this with the King, I-'

'We just had to watch as that bastard knocked Aramis out, and then had to ride away and leave him behind- what does it say!' Athos shouted, before looking down at the Garrison training area and noticing everyone looking up at them. He turned to Treville with a dark expression on his face.

'Tell us what it says, or so help me I will ride back to that forest and get Aramis myself, and damn that letter.' he growled, eyes flashing.

'Is it a ransom demand?' Porthos pressed, watching as Treville took in a deep breath. 'All the time we waste here, who knows what's happening to Aramis!'

'Alright- you can come to the King with me.' the Captain relented, tucking the letter in his pocket and closing his office door.

As he passed them on his way down the wooden stairs Athos caught his arm and pulled him back slightly, his eyes creased in a dark frown as he looked him straight in the eye. 'What aren't you telling us?' he said in a low whisper, voice dangerous.

Treville pulled his arm away, but didn't move. 'When we get to the King I will explain.' he replied, voice equally as low. 'Send a rider to summon the Cardinal, too- they both need to read this.' he shouted to another Musketeer as he crossed the Garrison training ground before disappearing behind the door. Athos and Porthos looked across at each other, a horrible sense of foreboding enveloping both men as they made their way to the Palace.

* * *

Aramis came to with a groan, his head muggy with pain as he moved his neck. He flexed his feet and wrists, not at all surprised to find that he was tethered to a wooden chair in the middle of a small room; he looked around the damp, sparse space, eyes going in and out of focus as consciousness drifted back to him slowly.

The window was slightly fogged up, so all the medic could make out was a wash of greens and browns outside, which to him meant that he was probably in a house in a forest or somewhere out of the main town. The absence of any noise, save for birdsong, also meant he was probably not in a town.

The ground beneath his boots was stone, and dirt was etched into the cracks; a damp, musty smell caught in his throat as he breathed in, and there was an oh-so-lovely sheen of brown mould running along the length of one wall to his left. Putting it all together he could guess he was tied to a chair in the basement of a small, country house in the middle of nowhere. Marvellous.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds as pain throbbed in the back of his head; he moved his neck and felt the stiffness of crusted blood on his skin. How long had he been out for? He could be many miles from where Athos and Porthos had left him now...he could even be across the border now, for that matter. He hoped not.

He looked up as he heard bootfalls on the floorboards above his head- small clouds of dust floated down as the rotting wood was stepped on. He didn't bother turning his head as he heard someone descend the stone steps down into the basement, nor when the door was pushed open, and slammed shut as the person stepped into the room.

'Ah, you're awake.' the voice said, his tone light. Aramis said nothing; he just listened.

'Shame your friends just rode away without putting up too much of a fight, eh?'

Aramis breathed in deeply, sorely tempted to let it out with a snort, but seeing as he could not see who was behind him- and more importantly if he had a weapon in his hands- he settled for giving a small shrug.

'They thought you'd kill me if they disobeyed.' he replied, voice echoing slightly.

'Kill you?' the man chuckled, 'we need you.'

'Why?' Aramis muttered, eyes still focused on the foggy window in front of him. 'What do you want?'

The footsteps behind him got louder as the man stepped closer- the medic tried not to flinch as a hand was clasped onto his shoulder and a face was brought next to his.

'All in good time,' Astor muttered, his stubble scratching Aramis' ear as he brought his face closer. 'You're part of something much bigger, you know that?'

'So this isn't some sort of ransom?' Aramis muttered, moving his face away as a waft of body odour assaulted his nose. 'You've actually got a plan?'

'Did you really think we didn't?' Astor muttered, pushing himself away walking to stand in front of the Musketeer.

'Well I just thought you were just the same run-of-the-mill, stupid villager who fancied their luck trying to bargain for the life of a Musketeer.' His sentence was met with a weighted silence, and Aramis was quite sure Astor was moments away from hitting him, when instead he just snorted and shook his head.

'Do you usually speak to people who are holding you hostage like this?'

'Only when I think they're just _total_ idiots.' Aramis muttered, heart beating hard in his chest. He had to find out how far he could push this man if he had any hope of getting out alive.

'What a brave man...' Astor said,voice returning to the light tone he used when he first came in. 'Don't worry- my friends will soon knock that out of you.'

'If I am part of something bigger, as you said, then what would be the point of hurting me?' Aramis challenged.

'I didn't say you had to be _alive_ , did I?' Astor smiled.

'I think you'll find you did,' Aramis replied, flexing his wrists.

'That was a slip of the tongue...' Astor muttered, before he looked round as the door opened and the sounds of two sets of boots making their way towards them met their ears.

'Ah, right on time...'. Astor said, the smile back on his face. Aramis craned his neck round, before sighing as he saw two big, beefy men with hands the size of hams, and the same thuggish looks on their faces. He turned back to Astor, an eyebrow quirked.

'What, you can't fight yourself so you have to bring in your heavies to roughen me up?' he challenged, to which Astor barked out a laugh and stepped towards him- the medic grunted as Astor's fist collided with his face, knocking his head back.

'I don't know whether you're really brave...' Astor growled as he stepped back, massaging his knuckles as Aramis felt blood run down his nose. '…..Or just really stupid.'

'Stupid, I'm sure...' Aramis muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he crinkled his nose to check if it was broken.

'What did you say?' Astor growled, stepping towards him again and grasping his coat in both hands, bringing their faces closer together.

'Nothing, I didn't say anything...' Aramis replied. Astor let go, shaking his head, before walking behind him- Aramis heard the door open and then Astor spoke up again.

'Knock that stupid out of him, would you- but don't overdo it. We need him for the next part.' He instructed, before slamming the door behind him.

Aramis looked round as the two men stepped in front of him and started cracking their knuckles, as if that was supposed to scare the Musketeer. 'Gents,' he muttered, trying out a smile on them. 'Two against one isn't really fair, is it?' he added, flexing his wrists again to check if he could snap the rope, but with a sinking feeling he knew he would not be getting out of these binds without being let out.

'You know, he's right,' the smaller of the men muttered with a nod. He stepped backwards and pulled a chair into the room, where he sat with a heavy thump. 'You can go first, Thomas.' he motioned to the bigger man, who smiled sardonically.

'My pleasure...' Thomas muttered, with an expression on his face that made Aramis very nervous.

'Remember though...' the smaller man added as Thomas raised his fist. 'We're not to hurt him too much.'

'Don't worry...' Thomas shook his head slowly as he stepped closer to the Musketeer. 'I'll only hurt him a little...'

* * *

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Next chapter we'll find out what Astor has to do with everything, and why Treville is so nervous!**

 **Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

The Cardinal looked up from his desk as the door to his office banged open, no doubt heralding the arrival of Treville and his minions. He put down the papers he was reading and rested his elbows on the oak table, steepling his long fingers together just as a very worried-looking Treville came to a stop in front of him.

He regarded him in silence for a few moments, eyes flicking between the Musketeer Captain and the two stooges who accompanied him, before sitting back and sighing. 'Having a bad day?' he asked lightly.

The bigger Musketeer behind Treville visibly bristled; the Cardinal tried not to chuckle as he opened his mouth to angrily retort before the smaller man dug him in the ribs and shushed him.

'You could say that,' Treville replied through gritted teeth- the Cardinal could tell that he did not really want the men behind him to be there by the way he leant forwards and spoke only through the corner of his mouth. 'Astor Dumont is back.'

The Cardinal prided himself on being a man who was quite hard to shock, but even he had to take a split second to rearrange his face into a normal, placid expression, despite the surge of surprise inside him. 'It must be an imposter.'

'Look for yourself.' Treville muttered tersely, throwing a battered-looking crumpled letter on his desk. The Cardinal sighed and picked it up, eyes roving the paper, again being very careful to project no expression on his face.

'Have you showed the King this letter?' he muttered as he read the last few words and put the paper on the table.

'No, you were the first person we got to, so I figured I'd show you first so we can go and see him together.'

'I see.' The Cardinal said, inclining his head before sitting back once more. 'This letter,' he started, looking at the three men in turn. 'It has no seal, no signature, no discernible feature to show it came from Astor Dumont.'

'But-'

'-And if we show the King, after all this time, it is just going to worry him.' The Cardinal now stood, his robes billowing around him. 'I say we do nothing, and meet no demands.'

'So what do we do with Aramis?' Athos growled, anger lacing through him as he stepped forwards. 'Forget about him?'

'My dear boy,' The Cardinal muttered, eyeing the letter on his desk. 'If it really is Astor Dumont who has him- which by the way, is very doubtful- then I am afraid poor Aramis is now as good as dead.'

'You can't know that for sure!' Porthos muttered, loud voice booming around the room- Treville caught the Cardinal's eye, a look passing between them that, if Athos was not just looking to his Captain for assurance, both Musketeers would have missed.

'Who is Astor Dumont?' he asked, voice cutting like ice in the now silent room as he looked from Treville to the Cardinal.

The Cardinal scoffed, turning to Treville as he stepped out behind his desk. 'You haven't even told them who he is?'

'I...it was before their time- I though it was done with...'

'...and you thought you could just bury it in the annuls of our history? I see.' The Cardinal took a deep breath and looked from Athos to Porthos. 'Well, Gentlemen, I'm afraid I have other matters to attend to. Feel free to take a pew here to listen to your Captain's little story...but please, do try not to break the furniture.' he added, before reaching over to his desk and making to pick up the letter. Treville got there first, tucking the letter in his inner pocket.

'Suit yourself.' The Cardinal muttered,before lowering his voice. 'But remember, chasing ghosts is rarely a fruitful pastime.'

'If this letter is genuine,' Treville whispered, 'then we have to warn the King. We must send out everyone we can spare to get Aramis back.'

'You leave that to me.' The cardinal retorted, before stepping back and walking away without a backwards glance.

Treville sighed and turned around, not in the least surprised to see Athos and Porthos standing in front of him, hard looks on their faces.

'Sit.' Athos muttered, kicking out a chair from the Cardinal's desk. 'Tell us about Astor Dumont.'

Treville inwardly sighed and was about to retort he'd rather like to stand, but he caught the look on Porthos' face and reluctantly sank into the hard wooden chair.

'We thought he was dead.' he started, voice dark. 'We were _assured_ he was dead...'

'That's obviously not true- who is he?' Athos growled, already recognising his Captain's tried and tested evasion techniques for uneasy questions.

'He was a nobody,' Treville shrugged, looking up to his men. 'He came from a small village about sixty miles from the city, came from a poor family. He and his brother Thomas were supporting a family of eight due to the early death of their father. He was killed by a Red Guard after trying to steal horses from a wealthy land-owner the previous year- they turned to cattle-rustling, pickpocketing, thieving and selling on stolen goods...anything they could think of to keep their family from starving, but they always carried an insatiable hatred for soldiers, no matter what regiment.' Treville sighed before continuing.

'One summer, about two years before you were commissioned, Athos, they came into Paris, no doubt looking for a bigger opportunity to steal better-quality goods. Astor was getting cold feet, but Thomas had heard a parade was going on the next morning; it was a rare opportunity when the Musketeer and Red Guard regiments marched together down the main street. I forget why we had the parade...perhaps it was the King's birthday...but anyway, Thomas knew the streets would be full of fools, elderly people, the infirm- it was a pickpocketer's paradise. Of course, the fact that basically the entire battalion of soldiers from the City would be lining the streets only made it more exciting for him. Astor nearly rode back to his village that very night- he was a babe when their father had been killed, so did not hold the same hatred for authority that Thomas did- but Thomas convinced him to stay.'

'This is all very good, but what-'

'I haven't finished.' Treville muttered, before taking a deep breath. 'The thing you have to understand about Thomas Dumont is that he was very...trigger-happy, shall we say. He liked to have his revolver on him, loaded at all times, in case he was cornered. Astor preferred a knife, being the son of a hunter, but he was wary of his brother's habit of whipping out his gun for the slightest of reasons. Well, next morning they went down to the main street and quietly set about pilfering what they could, only, inevitably, one man fought back. Thomas retaliated, splattering the man's brains into the walls. There was instant pandemonium...people screaming and running in every direction.

A few brave people tackled Thomas to the ground, but Astor, with his big hunting knife, came to his brother's aid. Before the Red Guards and the Musketeers arrived Astor had butchered fifteen members of the public, and had maimed a dozen more. Drenched in blood, I'll never forget that crazed look on his face.' Treville sighed again, looking up at Athos. 'We tried to contain the situation but those boys...once Thomas was up again and they were back together, it was...it was like the devil himself was on the streets. We lost four good men before we could wrestle Thomas to the ground, and the Red Guards lost five.'

'What about Astor?' Porthos asked. 'Didn't you get him?'

'The pavement was scarlet, bodies lay strewn everywhere...it was chaos. Absolute chaos...' Treville muttered, eyes wide as his mind flicked back to that day.

'Treville?' Athos muttered, taking a step closer to his captain, and his friend. 'What happened to Astor Dumont?'

'He managed to get away- it was hard enough to keep Thomas captured...screaming and baying like a beast, he was. We managed to haul him to the dungeons, set his execution date for two days time. No trial...the evidence was overwhelming. The night before, a mob came up to where the gallows were being built and just stayed the night, eager to see Thomas being brought out.

'How does the King fit into all this?' Porthos asked, frowning. 'You and the Cardinal were worried about telling the King that Astor was back- why? Why should the King be so worried?'

'Well, with Astor, he was fiercely protective of his younger siblings, especially Thomas, who was his only brother. He may have escaped capture, but he was willing to go back to get his brother out before he was hung the next morning. Only...'

'Only what?'

'He was a country boy- never been to the city in his life. He, somehow, managed to mistake the Palace for the dungeons.'

'You're joking?' Athos muttered, eyes wide.

'I wish I was.' Treville muttered, voice dark once more. 'He didn't care for his own life any more, which made him more dangerous than any prisoner we held in the dungeons, even Thomas. He knew what he was doing, too- he scaled the high walls, evaded the Red Guards on patrol long enough to get close enough to slit their throats. He then went from room to room, butchering people as he went. Thankfully, he never made it to the King's private quarters, but he still managed to evade us long enough to slip back into the shadows and out of the Palace. I don't know if he managed to get to the dungeons...I suppose he just knew he had to get out of the city before he was captured as well.'

'How have we not heard about this?' Porthos muttered once Treville had finished. 'Something like this, people would be talking about it for years.'

'I know it's not a nice way to think about it, but...no one was alive to tell the story. And the ones who were left alive, or who managed to escape?' Treville sighed again. 'We convinced them to stay silent. Didn't want to cause a panic among the population, especially as Astor had managed to get so close to the King...it would have caused a mistrust between the people and The Red Guards and The Musketeers.'

'You were worried about your image, even after all those people died?' Athos scoffed.

'We had to ensure them that this was over- we hung Thomas at dawn the next day, in front of a satisfied, baying crowd, and sent people out to look for Astor to bring him to justice, too. We were told he had been killed about a week on, but no body was produced. We had to believe it was over...so we told everyone he was dead.' Treville shrugged. 'I thought it was over.'

Athos suddenly looked up. 'When I first saw him, by the fountain in that small village, he waved at me. He spoke to us as if he knew us...he knew our names, too. How?'

Treville shrugged. 'He faded into obscurity- perhaps he has been back to the city, seen you in the streets or something.'

'Or, he's been stalking us for weeks- that's how he knew we were going to be there that day. How he knew us.' Porthos muttered, voice dark.

Treville nodded, eyes creased with worry. 'Perhaps.'

'So why is he back?' Porthos asked, confused. 'Why now? And why did he need Aramis?'

Athos stepped forwards, eyes boring into Treville's. 'Show us the letter.'

Wordlessly, Treville reached into his pocket and drew out the letter, flattened it out, and passed it to Athos, who held it so both he and Porthos could read it. Their blood turned to ice in their veins as they read it, and Athos fought to keep his hands from shaking.

 _Dear Your hyness._

 _You may not remember me- you were sleeping wen I came for my visit all them years ago, after all. You and your soldiers killed my father and my brother and you will all pay for causing my family pain. I killed lots of people and that felt good but I have somfing better now._

 _I want enough gold so my family can live proper, and horses as well. I know you can do this._

 _If you do not send sum gold tommorow to let me no you have this letter I will hurt the man I have with me now. Send a rider with the gold and a signed sealed letter so I no it is you who sent it._

 _Hurry now your hyness- for each day I do not get my gold I will send somfing of my own to you. You will not lyke it._

 _I will make you pay for killing my family. I will make you all pay._

* * *

Aramis opened his eyes as he heard the door slam shut behind him, before he heard footfalls on the stone steps leading to the upstairs of the house. Only then, in the strange silence of the room, did he groan, out in pain, but then it made his head hurt so he stopped; instead he carefully moved his jaw to make sure it wasn't broken. His eyes felt heavy inside their sockets; he could already feel his left eye swelling and the horrible sensation of blood trickling down his chin made his stomach heave slightly.

The bigger man was true to his word, he thought to himself as he weakly flexed his wrists in another fruitless attempt to get free. He had only hit him three times- the trouble was, those had been big, well aimed punches. He stiffened as he heard the door opening again...he hadn't heard footfalls on the steps that time.

Astor stepped into his view line, hands clasped behind his back as he peered out of the window, up into the rapidly-darkening evening sky.

'I hope you don't mind staying down here tonight.' he muttered, turning to Aramis and giving him a smile. 'It will be dark and cold...oh, and if you hear any strange noises, that'll just be the rats.'

'My favourite type of rodent.' Aramis shot back, trying not to swallow blood as his nose continued to bleed.

'Good...' Astor nodded, before looking back up at the sky. 'Tomorrow we find out if your friends really are your friends...'

'What do you mean?' Aramis muttered, unable to help himself.

'When I sent them back to Paris I gave Athos a letter to give to the King- no doubt the King has read it by now and is readying his reply to send tomorrow. You should hope they have, anyway...' he muttered, before walking close to Aramis and pulling out a rusty implement from inside his coat that made Aramis' eyes widen. Pliers.

'Because if not...you're in trouble...' he muttered, before tucking it back in his coat and turning away to go back up the stairs.

'Deep trouble.'

* * *

 **Hope you liked that- lots more to come!**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

The darkening courtyard in the Garrison was heaving with people when Porthos and Athos finally made it back- Porthos, every muscle, every nerve fibre, aching to rush out and rescue Aramis from whatever Astor could be doing to him, leant heavily against the wooden door and ran a tired, shaky hand down his face- Treville had made it plaintively clear that any rash action of any sort would not help the situation, and to leave it to the Cardinal and he to sort things out and come up with the rescue plan.

Athos, meanwhile, did not stop his stride as he came into the garrison- not glancing in any direction apart from forwards, even when a younger recruit called out to ask if he was alright, he disappeared into the laundry room and came out a few seconds later holding two pristine blue cloaks. Tossing one into Porthos' arms and ignoring the confused look on his face, he strode back out through the door, Porthos having to almost jog to keep up with him as the swordsman walked back the way they had come from.

'What are we doing?' Porthos asked, pulling on his new cloak as he walked, noting that Athos merely held his in his arms. 'Why do we need clean cloaks?'

'Our cloaks are dirty and torn, Porthos.' Athos muttered, now flinging his cloak over his shoulder. 'We can't see the King in dirty clothes, can we?'

Porthos' heart missed a beat. 'The King?' he echoed. 'Since when are we going to see the King?'

'Since I decided we were going to when we were walking back through the Garrison door.'

'Athos!' Porthos muttered, eyes wide as Athos turned to him for the first time. 'We can't just barge through the door and demand to see the King! Treville-'

'Treville has nothing to do with this. He wants to play diplomat with the Cardinal and weasel out of spending any money to get Aramis back. We need to make sure the King...understands the situation.'

'I understand that we need to get Aramis back, of course I do, but-'

'If Astor is as bad as Treville says he is, we need to do everything we can. If that includes complying with his demands in order to get Aramis back, so be it.'

'Why not gather some of the men and just go and find him?' Porthos asked as they crossed the grounds towards the castle. 'Just drag him out of there?'

Athos' mind flicked back to the look shared between Treville and the Cardinal, back in the Cardinal's rooms. 'I think we should be wary of this Astor,' he muttered, guilt trickling into his stomach already. Treville was right about demanding no rash actions- if Astor knew they were about to storm in to get Aramis he knew that Astor would have no qualms at all about killing their friend. At least this way, as hard as it was to stomach, they did have a chance of getting Aramis back alive, and, hopefully, unscathed.

The letter had specifically asked for gold the next day; it was now almost nightfall and they had no plan on what to do to get the gold or anything like that...or what would happen if did not comply.

'We have no idea where they are- they could be miles from where we left him. Perhaps Treville or the King can shed some light. I will not leave him to be tortured and die at the hands of that madman, but we need to know if those higher than us are prepared to do the right thing. If we do not get the answers we want, you have my word we will go and find him, support or no support.' He stopped at the gates, turning to Porthos again, a worried look on his face. 'Am I doing the right thing, coming in here?' he asked, his voice clipped in a way Porthos hadn't heard before.

'Like you say- we can't ignore what Astor said in his letter, or his threats. If the King is unwilling to offer help, we do it alone.' He put a gloved hand on Athos' shoulder and squeezed lightly. 'I'm with you all the way.' Athos nodded at that, and the two of them stepped into the shadows of the Palace.

* * *

'No, absolutely not.'

Athos clenched his teeth. 'We have as much right to demand an audience with the King than anyone else.'

'I said no.' The Cardinal snapped, eyes narrowed as he stood in front of the King's chamber. 'You think the King will roll over and agree with Astor's demands?' He muttered, voice like ice as Porthos breathed out deeply in frustration. 'You are fools if you think so.'

'Listen here you little...' Athos' voice trailed off as Porthos tapped his shoulder and the Cardinal's eyes flashed dangerously. He lowered his voice, his tone dripping in anger as he leant in closer to the man in front of him. 'If Aramis dies while we wait for you and the Captain to think of a little master plan you will regret it.'

'Are you threatening me, Athos?' The Cardinal muttered, voice thick with anger, a sardonic smile on his lips as he coolly looked across to the swordsman.

'No.' Athos stepped backwards, shaking his head. 'I'm promising you.'

Before the Cardinal could open his mouth to retort, there was a shout from behind them- both Musketeers turned to find Treville striding towards them, face like thunder.

'What the hell are you two doing here?' he growled, before noticing the Cardinal, his back to the King's door. He turned back to his two men, eyes wide with fury. 'Were you two trying to see the King?'

'Trying being the operative word.' The Cardinal muttered, standing up straighter now and ruffling his cloak. 'I barely managed to catch the two of them before they barged in whilst the King was inside.'

Treville looked round at the two of them, eyes almost bulging with anger. 'Out. Now.' He growled.

'We will see the King, I assure you.' Athos muttered to the Cardinal, before turning on his heel and walking out, Treville and Porthos in his wake.

* * *

Moonlight shone down on the three men as they followed Athos in silence into the heart of the city,through the myriad of courtyards and winding, hidden alleyways and paths, before finally reaching a small brick courtyard oft frequented by thieves and the like. A fountain splashed in the middle as Athos sat heavily on the brickwork next to it, digging the heel of his hands into his eyes as tiredness washed over him.

'What are we going to do?' he asked the two men in front of him.

'You had no right to try and see the King.' Treville scolded, shaking his head as he started to pace. 'None at all.'

'No action was being taken- and still nothing fruitful has happened.' Athos growled out, standing up and looking at the Captain. 'Aramis could be dying for all we know, and all we have done is argued about seeing the King!'

'Thos, keep your voice down...' Porthos muttered, suddenly very aware that they were being watched by a handful of dirty, scrawny children who had popped up to see what the fuss was all about.

'That letter said very clearly that if we do not meet Astor's demands by morning he would send something of his own to us- what do you suppose that means?' he looked from one man to the other as neither replied. 'Well?!'

'I'd rather not think about it.' Porthos muttered, sighing again as Treville looked to the floor.

'We are doing all we can- myself and the Cardinal are-'

'What? What are you doing that could possibly help?' Athos growled again. 'We already know the cardinal is going to refuse to meet Astor's demands!'

'I will talk to him,' Treville muttered, looking up as Athos scoffed. 'Astor was the perpetrator of the slaying of the most soldiers in the city for years- do not make the mistake of thinking that you are the only ones who fear for Aramis!'

'You will still not meet his demands for money and a hand signed and sealed letter from the King though, will you?' Porthos asked, his voice echoing in the empty courtyard.

'I will try my best, do not think I won't-'

'If Astor does not get his money he will hurt Aramis. Perhaps worse. All for some gold and a bit of paper?' Athos muttered, voice now barely more than a whisper as he looked across at Treville. 'We will go ourselves and look for him- we do not need you to help.' He growled, to which Porthos stood up straighter and nodded his agreement.

'I thought you would say that-' Treville muttered, voice heavy as he looked at the two of them. '-That's why I have reassigned your duties for the next few days.'

'What are you talking about?' Porthos asked, eyebrows creased in confusion.

'You two are on palace guard duty- the King's quarters.'

Porthos scoffed, now thoroughly nonplussed. 'But...you just gave us a lecture about seeing the King, and now you want us to guard him?'

Athos, however, allowed a hollow, disbelieving smile creep onto his face, as he shook his head, disgust for his Captain evident in his eyes. 'He's reassigned us to the King because if we refuse, it is grounds to dismiss us, and deserting your post when guarding the King carries a penalty of death.' he looked across to Treville, smile still on his face. 'Isn't that right, Sir?'

'We will get Aramis back, I promise you.' Their Captain said, looking from one man to the other, an expression on his face that neither Athos or Porthos could read. He sighed again and turned away, and began walking out of the courtyard. 'Be at your posts at six tomorrow morning.' he called, before disappearing into the darkness, his silhouette rapidly swallowed by the shadows of the night.

* * *

Morning light cast a warm yellow glow into the basement, a strip shining onto Aramis' face as he woke up, slowly lifting his stiff neck from where he had been forced to rest it on his shoulder for the last few hours. Birdsong wafted into the silence, but instead of calming the medic as it usually did- when he was in his own, warm bed, that is- it made him nervous, on edge.

He flexed his bound hands and feet, groaning softly as his skin protested against the movement. A horrible, sickly feeling had already made its home in his stomach, and every time he swallowed he felt nausea creep into his throat.

He looked up as he heard footsteps once again make their way down the stone stairs into the room. Astor was whistling tunelessly as he slowly came up behind him, before Aramis heard him bite into an apple and chew loudly.

'Morning!' he shouted into his ear, the abrupt sound making the Musketeer jump. Astor laughed, before walking to the corner of the room and dragging a wooden chair out of the shadows before placing it with its back facing Aramis and sitting astride it like a horse, still munching on his apple.

'Well, it's just gone ten o'clock.' he said, as if he were conversing in the market square to a friend.

Aramis swallowed, before giving Astor a small nod to indicate he understood.

'And...nothing has arrived.' Astor shrugged, taking another bite of apple. 'No rider...no gold...no letter...nothing.'

A silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Aramis cleared his throat. 'I see.' he muttered, voice still cracking from under-use.

'I made it quite clear in my letter to them on what would happen if I didn't get what I asked for.'

'Perhaps they got lost.' Aramis said, shrugging. 'From what I can see we are in the middle of nowhere.'

Astor smiled at that, returning the shrug as he threw his apple core into the middle of the room- both men watched as a large, black rat scuttled into view and dragged it into a dark corner. 'I did think of that- I sent my men onto the main road. If anyone came past they would have showed them the way.'

'Ah. What a clever idea.'

'But alas, no one came.' Astor sing-songed, before he sighed and stood up, pushing the chair away and producing the pliers that he had shown Aramis the night before. 'I did warn them what the consequences would be if they did not comply...'

Aramis stiffened at the sight of the pliers; he looked up to Astor, face ashen white.'Listen, you don't have to do this- you want gold, is that right? I have gold. Not much, but enough for what you need, I'm sure.'

'It's too late for that- and besides, this isn't just about gold.' Astor muttered, stepping closer.

'Then what is this about?' Aramis muttered, fighting to keep his voice stable and calm, despite the fear dancing in his chest. 'Talk to me.'

Astor smiled and looked round him, and seconds later Aramis learnt why- four pairs of strong hands grasped his shoulders and forearms, pushing him down into his chair. He started to struggle then, the fear now causing his heart to race as he fought against the two men that held him fast.

'Please!' he cried, eyes wide as Astor merely laughed and brought the pliers down.

'Hold out his hand!' he instructed the man- Aramis growled out in panic as one of the men grasped his right and held it steady in his firm grip.

'Don't...don't..' he gasped out, sweat beading and falling down his face as Astor carefully, precisely, caught the fingernail of his middle finger in its grip.

'Don't want to go too extreme, too fast...' he whispered, a horrible grin on his face.

'Please don't do this!' Aramis whispered, adrenaline coursing through his body, making every nerve fibre fizz- seconds later, he buckled into himself and screamed as Astor pulled out the fingernail with a strong, firm pull.

'Ooh, that's a good one!' Astor congratulated himself as Aramis choked out in pain, eyes squeezed shut. Aramis opened them to see Astor depositing the fingernail in wooden, purple box that had been placed on the window sill.

'Right- that was the practice run...' he muttered, coming back to Aramis as the Medic started thrashing around and shouting again. 'lets go again, shall we?' he asked, before chuckling and bringing the pliers down again.

* * *

 **Next chapter up soon!**

 **Sorry if the torture was too much, but I thought it was right to actually show it rather than just allude to it, and there will be more in future chapters, just to give a blanket warning!**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**

 **X**


	6. Chapter 6

Athos stood up straighter against the white walls of the King's inner rooms and sighed, rubbing his tired face with his hand in an effort to stay alert. After Treville had ordered them to spend the next few days guarding the King, both he and Porthos had no intention of returning to their rooms to get some rest before heading to their new duty- they had spent the night in a tavern, talking to as many people as possible without raising too much attention to themselves; they surmised _someone_ must know something about this Astor, seeing as he had apparently made such an impact on the city all those years ago.

Most people had never heard of him, or his brother, but Athos had noticed some of the older regulars of the bar turn to them with wide eyes when they overheard some of the conversation, before they closed ranks, refusing to speak to them when Athos approached them to ask for their story.

This did not make either of the Musketeers feel any better about whatever situation Aramis was now in; Athos had noticed that by their last few drinks Porthos' hand was trembling slightly, but whether of tiredness, worry or anger, he did not know, and he did not ask.

They had gone to the Garrision for a quick change and to splash some water on their faces before they made their way to the Palace in the morning- Treville had been standing on his wooden balcony by his office, hands clasped tightly on the railings, as they crossed the training area to get to the laundry room.

Athos steadfastly ignored him, instead keeping his eyes forwards as he made his way to get a fresh cloak; Porthos, meanwhile, did raise his eyes, and gave their Captain a small nod of acknowledgement, which Treville returned.

Now they were stood in the sombre quiet of the King's quarters, standing either side of the door that led to the King's private study, where he, Treville and the Cardinal were inside, speaking in hushed tones.

As much as Athos strained to hear the words he could not; instead he looked outside to the large window he stood in front of, trying to ignore the rising panic in his chest as the morning sun rose steadily over the trees and lake in the Palace grounds. They had not sent out a rider or the gold that had been requested, both men knew this- he tried to push down the anger and disappointment that clung to his very being like veiled smoke, but every time he heard the deep tones of Treville it reared again, making his hands twitch.

'You alright?' Porthos muttered, breaking the silence in the corridor. Speaking whilst on duty was generally frowned upon, especially in the tight confines of the Palace, but, for now, Athos did not much care for the rules.

'No,' he answered truthfully, turning his head to meet Porthos' eyes. 'I'm not'.

Porthos sighed slightly, nodding, but he did not answer. He couldn't find the words.

Athos looked up as he heard footsteps tapping on the marbled floor leading to the King's inner rooms- both men stood up straighter as a servant came up to them, holding something covered in a rich black velvet cloth.

'I have a gift for the King.' The servant said, looking to Athos, who had stepped forwards first.

'You know as well as I that any gifts for the King needs to go through the treasury,' Athos said. 'Have you been there to seek their approval to bring it to the King personally?'

'N-no..' The servant muttered. 'I was told to give it straight to the King himself. It was a matter of great importance.'

'I see...' Athos fought down a tide of panic. He held out his hands. 'Give it to me and I shall see that the King receives it.'

'Pardon my insolence, sir,' the servant muttered, taking a step back and shaking his head. 'I have been told that I must give this to the King himself, and no other.'

'We are the King's royal guard.' Porthos said, voice steady.'We need to make sure whatever is in the box won't harm the King.'

'I was assured it wouldn't, sirs.'

'Please- you have done your job well. Let us take it from here.'

'But I was told-'

'Listen...' Athos stepped forwards again, hand now slipping into his jacket, where he pulled out his change purse. Looking round to make sure no one else was there, he passed the whole purse to the servant. 'Give the box to me and we'll say no more.'

The Servant weighed the change purse in his hand; a few seconds later he passed the box to Athos, who took it with slightly trembling hands. 'Throw the purse over the wall of the Garrison once its empty,' he instructed the servant, who nodded and walked away.

'That was risky.' Porthos muttered as the servant closed the door, leaving the corridor in silence.

'I know,' Athos agreed, his eyes on the box he now held in his hands. He pulled the black velvet covering off the box and revealed a simple wooden box, painted a rich shade of purple.

It was very light, and when Athos tentatively gave it a shake, nothing seemed to roll around inside.

'Is it empty?' Porthos muttered, frowning.

'Certainly feels like it...' Athos replied, but before he could open it the door between them opened and the Cardinal poked his head through the gap.

'What do we have here?' he asked, pushing the door open all the way and standing up straighter.

'A servant came and gave it to us.' Porthos replied.

'It's for the King.' Athos added.

'And you thought to just keep it there yourselves, did you?' The Cardinal said loudly.

'What is it?' The loud, dulcet tones of the King wafted over the three men. 'Is it a present?'

'Well come in, come in...' The Cardinal stepped aside. 'Go and give it to his Royal Highness.'

'We are not sure what it contains yet, we-'

'If it's a present for me, come and give it to me!' The King shouted, to which Athos tried not to roll his eyes. His hands clasped the box, fingernails scraping on it- he wanted to open it himself, but obviously now he did not have a choice.

He and Porthos stepped inside the darkened office and walked down the room to where the King was sitting amongst scrolls and maps, flanked by Treville on one side, who was now stood with his arms crossed against his chest, eyes narrowed.

'What is this?' he asked his men, looking down at the box.

'It was given to us just now, Sir.' Porthos answered. 'We were going to inspect it but-'

'I shall do my own inspecting, thank you!' The King muttered, arms out and fingers snapping to get Athos to pass him the box. Athos took a deep breath and stepped forwards, handing it to the King who, to his credit, did not snatch, but carefully took it and placed it on the desk in front of him.

'Oooh, I wonder what it is...' he muttered, lips pursed as he ran his hands down the box. 'Chocolates? Cards? Precious stones?'

'You might find out if you opened it, your Highness...' Treville muttered, looking down at the box with wary eyes as The Cardinal stepped to the King's other side and peered over his shoulder.

'Right, of course, of course...' The King nodded, flicking open the two golden claps and opening the box, the hinge creaking as he did so.

Athos and Porthos could not see the contents, so could only make do with watching the expressions on the three men in front of them-as the box was opened there was a few seconds of silence, before the Cardinal stepped backwards a little, the King's eyes widened before he let out a little shriek and Treville expertly grabbed the box and hauled it up and out of the King's eyeline, and shut the lid with a loud bang.

'What is it?' Athos muttered, heart hammering in his chest as he looked to Treville. 'Sir, what's in it?'

'Take it away!' The King shouted, standing up and walking out the room with the Cardinal in tow with a shaking head. 'What an awful present!' he yelled before slamming the door to his office shut, leaving the three men alone.

'What's in the box?' Porthos muttered, both men coming up to Treville who, without speaking, handed the box to Athos. Athos pulled open the lid, eyes widening as he and Porthos looked into it, eyes wandering to the contents, which were so small they collected into one corner.

'Oh my god...' Porthos muttered as both men's eyes fell on the five, bloody fingernails resting against the wooden lining of the box.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis sighed into the silence of the stone room, his voice hitching a little before it echoed around. A few more brazen rats skittered over the dirt-encrusted ground, tying to find any small morsel that lay about the floor; one or two strayed closer to the Medic, drawn by the smell of the blood that had collected on the floor under his hand that was now once again tied behind him.

He shooed one that scampered over his boots, but was careful not to make too much noise, or Astor and his henchmen would be thundering down the stairs again.

His fingertips throbbed, and the pain was made worse as the rope cut into his wrist, making all his fingers go numb with lack of blood to them. He flexed his wrists, trying to angle them to get more comfortable, if such a sensation was even possible when one was tied to a chair.

He looked up to the window, at the white clouds bobbing over blue sky-he had no idea what sort of time it was, or even what day it was. How long had he been away? Were Athos and Porthos looking for him?

He shook his head, disgusted with himself that he had even doubted them. And yet...they had not given Astor what he had wanted. He had told himself that it was not down to them, that it was probably the King and Treville that would make those choices, but...why had they not fought harder? Where were they now?

He had a sudden vision of his two friends riding towards _wherever he was_ and cutting down Astor and his cronies where they stood, but then reality set in, making him go cold and uncomfortably hot at the same time with thick, all-encompassing panic as he returned to one pressing thought.

He was alone here. No one knew where he was, let alone where to start looking.

His fingers blossomed in pain again, throwing him back into the present- he couldn't wait for help to arrive. Astor had said that for every day The King did not meet his demands something else would happen- he was not going to stay around for that, that was for sure.

He flexed his wrist again, harder this time, ignoring the flourishing pain as best he could- normally Astor tied his binds, but he knew for a fact that Astor was standing in front of him when his hand, encased in agony, had been roughly pulled backwards and tied with his other hand. He only hoped the henchman was not as adept at tying knots as he was at holding people down.

He gritted his teeth as his wrists painfully burned; he felt warm blood slip down to the palms of his hands. He had to keep going, he had to at least try...

There was silence up above, in the main house- perhaps Astor had gone out? He hoped so, as he now groaned out slightly as he moved his wrists about.

Finally, and with his heart soaring, the rope seemed to slacken, just a little. The knot was working loose. He swallowed down the elation as he kept working, a new-found adrenaline sparking in his chest and working its way down his nerves as he kept on, until, finally,the rope slipped down over his wrists, hitting the floor with a flump.

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Aramis moved his arms to his front, eyeing his bloody wrists and fingertips with worry; he couldn't care about that now, he told himself as he used his good hand to unhook the knots tying his boots to the chair. He had to get out.

He stood up on shaky legs, tucking his hand with no fingernails under one arm as he swivelled around, eyes looking for escape.

He crossed to the window, eyeing it for a lock or handle. It seemed to be just a plain pane of glass, not meant to open to let in a summer breeze. He peered outside; as this was the basement half his eyeline met grass and weeds; the other half was just a strip of sky and trees. Even if he did managed to somehow smash the glass without alerting Astor- if he was in the house, that was- he would have no chance of shimmying across to freedom, as his shoulders were too broad to fit.

He stepped backwards, a deep dread hitting his stomach- up the stairs and out the front door it was, then. He crossed to the stone steps, noticing for the first time how steep they were. He walked up them slowly and carefully, using his good hand to brush against the wall to help keep his balance; he cupped his hand around the wooden door handle and twisted. It unlocked.

Hardly able to breathe, Aramis carefully pushed open the door, and he stepped into the room, looking around.

The room he was in was sparse, with one wooden chair near the back wall and a frayed, thread-bare carpet in the middle of the room, and there was an empty grate in the corner with hunks of black and white burnt-out logs and piles of ash; it looked like it hadn't been cleaned out in years.

He stepped into the silence, looking round to make sure no one was in the house- his ears strained but he couldn't hear a thing. A rushing feeling of relief washed over him as he eyed the corridor to his left, and to the front door at the end of it.

It was then, in his elation at finally being free, when his mind whirred with plans of escape and getting back to Paris, away from this hell, that he forgot the carnal, golden rule that had been drummed in to him and all Musketeer recruits since the day they joined the regiment.

He forgot to look behind him.

As he stepped forwards to cross the corridor he felt two arms lace around his middle and haul him backwards, almost off his feet. 'Not so fast!' Astor yelled into his ear as Aramis struggled, both hands reaching to Astor's and scratching as hard as he could; Aramis screamed out in pain as the pressure on his hand without fingernails merely opened all the wounds again, sending blood dribbling onto both men and onto the dusty floor.

'Get back down here-' Astor shouted, grunting with exertion as he stepped backwards, wrenching Aramis back too.

'No...!' Aramis groaned out, bringing his head forwards and then flinging it back, hitting Astor in the face; he felt his nose break under his head, but Astor still kept a tight hold, wrenching him sideways to try and get him back through the door to the basement.

'Get down here!' he yelled, his voice muffled as he fought to keep Aramis upright and heading towards the basement. He roughly pushed him through it, sending the medic teetering on the edge of the steep set of stairs. Blindly, Aramis elbowed and donkey-kicked as much of Astor as he could reach, with as much strength as he could muster.

He caught the man in the jaw, sending his face to the side, his broken nose denting under his fist. This time Astor did bring his hands up to shield his face, leaving his stomach open to attack- Aramis took the opportunity and, with both arms out in front of him, tried to barrel his way past Astor, pushing at his chest and stomach with all his might.

Astor seemed to be anticipating this move- he quickly sidestepped and, when Aramis was almost passed him, grabbed him around the middle again, and with a loud groan of exertion, hauled him back round in front of him, before letting go of Aramis just as he reached the very top of the stairs once more .

With wide eyes, Aramis flailed in nothingness, feeling his body shift backwards, heavy as lead. A thrill of panic escaped him in one short yelp of surprise and sudden, incomprehensible horror as he realised he was falling.

A split second later, and the inevitable happened. He dropped down, falling backwards onto the stone steps in an eerie silence; he didn't have time to scream out. Down and down he fell, twisting and somersaulting as his back, his arms, his head, his legs, all took their turns in slamming into the steep, stone steps. With a sickening thud he landed, crumpled, at the bottom of the stairs.

A silence fell, permeated only by Astor coming down the stairs, slowly, methodically, to look at what had happened.

He peered round at Aramis' still face, gauging whether or not he was alive.

'Shame,' he finally whispered as he stood, brushing down his trousers and gingerly touching his nose as the blood started to congeal. 'I had such a lot planned, too.' he added, before walking back up the stairs and slamming the door shut, leaving Aramis alone at the bottom of the stone steps.

 **...Please don't kill me for this huge cliffie!**

 **Thanks for reading this extra-long chapter, I hope you liked it!**

 **Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

Aramis woke slowly, his eyes straining against a sudden shock of midday light- he focused them for a few seconds, his head throbbing in pain, as he tried to gather his whereabouts. His eyesight swam in and out as a fuzzy darkness filled his vision, before it moved away, as if it was swaying.

After opening his eyes as wide as he could, Aramis could finally make out the long, thin shadow of a tree, its leaves fluttering in the breeze.

His stiff fingers curled into the surface he was lying on; he sucked in a pained breath as his nail-less fingers scraped against coarse straw. He was lying on what looked like a hastily made straw mattress, with a thin, mildew-stained pillow under his head.

He tried moving, but immediately stopped as his back protested; as he lay awkwardly back down he noticed his shoulder felt strange, numb. He turned his neck, the muscles making stabbing pains fly down his chest and down his arms- he closed his eyes for a few seconds as he saw his shoulder was dislocated; the bone jutting out at an odd angle.

'He's awake.' The sentence was quietly spoken, but to Aramis it was like it had been shouted right into his ear- he jerked, gasping out in pain as he pulled himself round, eyes swivelling for the owner of the voice.

'Thought you'd never wake up.' The voice continued, but no matter where Aramis looked he could not locate the man. It wasn't Astor, he knew that for sure.

'Who are you?' he cried out, before finally sinking painfully back into a lying position as his shoulder burst into agony, tears of pain springing in his eyes as he lay on his back staring into the bare floorboards on the ceiling. His legs ached, the pain arching through his body like a raging fire.

'You've been asleep for two days.'

'Two d...' Aramis shook his head, the fingers on his good hand curling into the straw. 'You're lying.'

'No- we couldn't do anything about your shoulder until you woke up. Would you like me to put it back into place?'

'Who are you?' Aramis said again, teeth now chattering in pain as his shoulder flared sickeningly.

The man didn't answer- instead the Medic heard the scraping of a chair being pulled away, before he heard footsteps coming closer.

As a shadow once again crossed his field of vision Aramis looked up- he growled out and tried to move himself away as one of the men who had assisted Astor in removing his fingernails crouched down beside him, his face an impassive mask.

'If you keep moving you're going to make the pain worse.' he muttered.

'Leave me alone!'Aramis spat, his breathing heavy as he fought against the pain as he tried to move.

'Don't you want me to put your shoulder back into place?'

'Why do you care?!'

'I...' the man faltered at that, as if unsure himself. 'I can see you're in pain.'

'Which you and Astor caused!' Aramis retorted, shaking his head and instantly regretting it. The pain was starting to envelope him as more feeling came back into his sore muscles and aching bones; as he moved his legs to try and get away his hips and thigh muscles flared in sudden agony, making him bite back a thrill of pain.

'Astor was...wrong.'

'Oh don't give me that!' Aramis cried out, trying hard not to squeeze his eyes shut in pain as a near-hysterical laugh escaped his lips. He turned dark eyes on the man as his head throbbed. 'I didn't see any stopping, or any crisis of conscience from you when you were helping that madman rip my bloody fingernails out!' He sank back to the mattress again, tiredness filling his body now as exhaustion started to creep in.

There was a silence for a few weighted seconds, before Aramis gasped as the man lurched forwards and grasped both him round the middle and hauled him into a sitting position.

'What are you...!' he groaned, every aching muscle and bone flaring in pain as the man now came to his other side and grasped his dislocated shoulder in both arms and, in one movement, pulled and twisted it back into position. Aramis screamed out as the bone was moved, his breathing ragged as the man moved away, leaving the medic to sink painfully back down, eyes squeezed shut.

'You should feel better soon.' the man said, before he looked up as someone came down the stairs, their boots slamming on the stone.

'You're awake!'Astor cried out, a surprised look on his face. 'I was so sure you were a goner!'

'Sorry to d-disappoint.' Aramis muttered, to which Astor laughed loudly.

'Never mind- there's still time...' he replied, before looking up at the man who had put Aramis' shoulder back in place. 'Thomas, did you do what I asked?'

'I got it.'

'Good- where's your damned brother?'

'He's getting more rope from the storeroom.' Thomas replied, before they both looked up as another man emerged from a small room off from the basement, arms laden with rope.

'Pierre- put that over there and help me get him into that chair!' Astor demanded, before he started walking towards Aramis.

'I- I think he should stay there a little longer.' Thomas interjected, coming to stand on the left of Aramis, whilst Astor stood at his right. 'He's just woken up and he's in a lot of pain.'

'What are you now, his nursemaid?!' Astor growled, looking down at Aramis with a dark look. 'He doesn't know what pain is.' he added, before looking back up at Thomas with a sardonic grin on his face.'But he soon will.'

'I just think he should be able to lie down for a wh-' Aramis himself flinched as he watched Astor lean across and give Thomas a back-handed slap which sent the younger man a step to the side.

'I decide what happens here, not you!' he growled, before they both looked up as Pierre walked back into Aramis' field of vision, a hard look in his face as he took in the red patch on his brother's face.

'I'm alright, Pierre.' Thomas rubbed his cheek before stepping away. 'Don't worry.'

'He's a big boy, as he likes to keep telling us, don't you?'Astor growled- he faltered a little as Pierre continued to look at him, eyes flashing dangerously. 'I didn't hit him that hard!' he protested, before his visibly relaxed as Pierre walked off without uttering a single word.

As Astor looked down he and Aramis' eyes met- as a red flush crept into the other man's face he brought his leg back before kicking the medic in the side. Aramis cried out in pain, curling into himself as pain erupted in his ribs, which made the rest of his body flourish in agony; he guessed Thomas had rushed forwards as the next thing he knew Astor was stepping away from him, shouting at Thomas to stay back.

He growled out as two hands suddenly dug into the skin under his arms and hauled him upwards- Astor dragged him slowly backwards and up into the wooden chair, where Pierre was waiting to drape and tie the rope around him.

'You better hope that the King starts giving in to our demands!' Astor fumed as Pierre tied the last knot. Aramis' head immediately dropped onto his shoulder, exhaustion creeping into every part of him as his muscles continued to spark in pain. Astor stepped forwards and grasped a handful of his hair, pulling the medic's head up so their eyes met again. 'Because I'm going to stop playing by the rules soon!' he shouted into his face, before letting go of his hair so Aramis' head hit his shoulder again.

'I'm going to write a new letter, addressed to your friends this time...' he muttered, before the sound of metal being drawn reached the Medic's ear. He looked up, eyes fluttering open and shut as he watched Astor thumb a large knife that glinted silver in the sunlight. He looked up and caught Aramis looking, before smiling and quirking an eyebrow. 'Can't write a letter without ink, can we?' he said, voice chipper as he stepped closer.

Aramis shook his head as it dropped back down. 'Please...' he whispered; his voice sounded far away, as if he was speaking from under a bridge, and his tongue felt too heavy. 'Please...' he repeated as Astor stepped closer still, before he signalled for Pierre and Thomas to come closer.

'Hold his arms...' he muttered. 'I'm afraid I'm going to have to write a long letter.'

* * *

As darkness fell around him, hours later, Aramis' mind once again turned back to his friends- what were Athos and Porthos doing right now? Searching for him in every town and village from Paris to the border? Kicking in the doors to abandoned houses; peering into darkened windows and asking questions of everyone they met? He hoped so.

The cuts on his arms stung vividly, which somehow made the pain in his muscles and bones lessen- he didn't have energy to sigh deeply as he felt the warm blood continue to trickle down his arms and onto the floor. He closed his eyes again, but this time he didn't just wish for sleep.

His neck ached but he didn't have the strength to keep his head upright- his mouth was dry as paper, his head muggy as dehydration began its work.

He heard a creak from somewhere upstairs- the noise seemed to awaken the rats in the room which began skittering around, as if hopeful for some food. As one bravely came up to the medic Aramis didn't even have the strength to shoo it away; as a result it continued to scuttle around, before finally climbing up his leg and settling on his thigh.

Aramis studied it for a while as it groomed itself before it started sniffing around- suddenly it jumped down as the door to the basement creaked slowly open, before footsteps could be heard descending the stairs.

Aramis looked up as he sensed someone was standing in front of him- Thomas was looking down at him with a worried look on his face.

'What...'Aramis stopped to try to wet his mouth as his throat protested. 'What are you doing here?' he asked tiredly, too exhausted to speak any louder than a whisper.

'I brought you some water.' Thomas whispered back, showing Aramis a small wicker basket he had tucked under one arm. 'And some bread soaked in milk.'

'W-why?' Aramis asked, unable to help himself. Why was this man helping him?

'I...I didn't want you to get hungry or thirsty during the night.' Thomas replied, stepping into the scant moonlight- Aramis looked up, determined to get a better look at him. The thought of Thomas being a man went straight out of Aramis' mind as his eyes took in his features- he would guess him to be no older than fourteen years old. He had a cherubic face, not yet sculpted and defined like a man's, and his eyes were wide. Scared.

'Th-thank you.' he finally said, suddenly aware his was staring. He watched as Thomas put down the basket and withdrew from it a small glass bottle of water.

'C-can I move your head?' He asked, unsure.

'I can d-do it...'Aramis groaned, lifting his head as Thomas brought the bottle closer. The Medic drank greedily, not caring as some water ran down his chin and onto his shirt.

'Thank you...' he muttered as Thomas put the empty bottle down after a few seconds. He flexed his wrists that were once again bound tightly behind him and groaned as the movements caused his injured shoulder to erupt into pain again.

'You're in pain.' Thomas muttered as he stood up. Aramis said nothing as a wave of agony lanced through him as if he was immersed into fire- everything ached and nothing he did could help abate it...he groaned out in frustration and pain.

'I can give you something for the pain-' Thomas muttered, reaching into the basket and brining out a small brown bottle of liquid. '-it will help you sleep, too.' he added, looking down at Aramis, who immediately shook his head as he eyed the bottle.

'No...' he muttered, swallowing hard as Thomas un-stoppered the bottle. 'I don't want it...'

Thomas looked up but said nothing, instead he knelt down, coming closer to the older man, who balked away despite the pain he was in.

'I don't want it, please..' he whispered, looking up at Thomas as the pain in his wrists and shoulders made him sink back into his chair. He had heard things about these drugs, about what they did to the people who took them. 'I don't want it.'

'The tincture will help you, I promise...' Thomas insisted, crouching down in front of him and holding the small bottle out. 'You'll thank me for it later.'

'Please, leave me alone...'Aramis muttered- seconds later and he groaned out as Thomas stood up and came closer, arm raised.

He clenched his teeth together as the boy tried to force the bottle between his lips; the glass clinked against his teeth and he felt some of the liquid dribble down his chin- Thomas was unperturbed, and instead grasped Aramis' bottom jaw with a dirty hand and squeezed either side of his mouth, forcing the Medic to open his mouth so he could pour the tincture in.

Aramis gargled and choked as the liquid burned his mouth, determined not to swallow- Thomas had obviously thought of that issue, too, as as soon as he had administered the tincture he threw the empty bottle to the floor and clamped a hand over Aramis' mouth with one hand, before holding his nose closed with the other to force him to swallow if he wanted to breathe.

He stepped back as Aramis eventually did swallow, the worried look on his face. 'It'll help, I promise!' he muttered, nodding as Aramis threw out a slew of curses. 'Its my mother's from when she was ill- you'll want more, and I have plenty more upstairs.'

Aramis now could no longer pay attention- his eyes felt impossibly heavy, as did his body. A strange feeling washed over him, like a warm, suffocating wind or a thick blanket. Thomas seemed to blur in front of him; his words muffled before becoming just a deep noise. His eyelids fluttered again, and before Thomas had even stopped speaking he watched as Aramis' head dropped back down, his chin hitting his chest as the tincture finally overwhelmed him.

He gathered up the wicker basket and made his way slowly back up the stone stairs and opening the door to the main house, where Astor was waiting for him, arms crossed across his chest.

'You were a long time.' he muttered, as Thomas shut the door behind him.

'He took some...convincing.' he replied, putting the basket down.

'So he agreed to take it?'

'N...not exactly...' Thomas replied, averting his eyes. 'I had to force him to take it.'

Astor grinned, clamping a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezing. 'Good lad!' he muttered, before walking with him back into the kitchen. 'I think this calls for a celebration!' he announced, all thoughts of the man below their feet firmly from their minds.

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Just a little note- I have done quite a lot of research into 17th century drugs for this fic (in this case Tincture of Opium) but I will have to take a little bit of artistic licence in order to make what I have found fit this story; I will try to be as realistic as possible for the time period.**

 **Thanks again for reading, please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

The Paris streets were extraordinarily silent when Athos rose from his bed having not slept a wink. He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand down his tired face as he swung his legs out to rest his feet on the cold stone floor. It had been three days since the box had arrived addressed for the King. Three days since they had any mention that Aramis was even alive.

He looked to the window as the familiar feeling of frustration and despair settled once again into the pit of his stomach, where it had lain like a dormant beast ever since Aramis had been taken.

He stood up and pulled on the same shirt he had worn the day before, pushing his feet into his boots before coming up to stand at the window to watch Paris wake up.

The sun rose slowly, or perhaps it seemed slow to Athos as now the coming of a new dawn, which used to make him feel marginally better after a long night's drinking in a tavern, now made him feel sick as he reminded himself that a new day without their medic was about to begin.

There was a knock on his door, short and sharp. Athos sighed and crossed the room to open it- it could only be one of two people. Treville stood at his door, which caused Athos to quirk an eyebrow in surprise, as he had been expecting Porthos, but he let his Captain in nonetheless, stepping aside to let him cross into the middle of the room.

'You haven't slept.' Treville muttered, glancing at the rumpled but evidently un-slept in bed before resting his eyes his best swordsman, looking him up and down.

Athos shrugged and said nothing- instead he moved to the small dresser by the wall and poured himself a glass of wine.

'That won't help.'

Again Athos shrugged, swallowing the wine and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He cleared his throat as he put the glass down and gathered up his hat and gloves. 'Do you come here with news?'

Treville bristled slightly at the tone, before shaking his head. Athos growled in his throat in frustration before breathing in deeply as he put his hat on his head. He opened the door again, nodding for Treville to get out. 'I've got duty in twenty minutes.' he reminded him, to which Treville nodded and stepped outside, trying to gauge Athos' expression.

'We will find him, Athos, we-'

'It's been three days since we last even had word that he is still alive.' Athos cut across him as he strode out of his rooms and down the quiet streets that led to the Palace. 'Who knows what could have happened in that time.'

'We have to have faith, we have to-'

'Faith?' Athos wheeled round, eyes wide as both men stopped in the middle of the street. 'Will faith lead us to him? Will faith miraculously manage to pinpoint his location for us?'

Treville took a measured breath, but before he could utter a word Athos was speaking again. 'No, it is not faith that will find him, but men! But you-' he jabbed a finger into Treville's chest, sending him back a step, '-you are sending the two people who may have a chance of finding him alive to work at the Palace!'

'I don't want to lose you and Porthos too!' Treville rebutted, anger in his voice.

'Then you surely condemn him to death because you are too stubborn to let us help!'

'You don't understand, Dumont and his brother were madmen! Lunatics!' Treville growled, shaking his head. 'We lost over ten good men to them! I will not let it happen again!'

'So I'm right?!' Athos retorted. 'You would rather Aramis die then let Porthos and I help?'

'Athos please, I-' Treville let his words drop as Athos turned on his heel and kept walking. 'I am your Captain!' he shouted after him, not caring about the curious eyes of the early morning risers now upon them. 'You will stop when I order it! Athos!' he sighed deeply as Athos kept walking, before he turned a corner and he lost sight of him altogether.

* * *

'When are we gonna go out and look for him ourselves?' Porthos muttered, voice low as the two of them once again found themselves guarding the King's private chambers.

'Believe me, I would go right now if it didn't mean putting the King's life in danger.' Athos replied. 'To hell with Treville.'

Porthos looked down the floor, resisting the urge to say that at the moment he couldn't care less about the King at this precise moment in time. He had been forced to spend three days worrying about the fate of his friend- Treville had rostered them to work from dawn to nightfall with only a small break in between; they had no time to go out looking for Aramis if they hoped to be fit enough for work the next morning.

'How about we ask Pierre and Robert to cover for us?' he asked, voice hopeful.

Athos shook his head. 'Treville has made it clear we are to guard the King ourselves- we both know the consequences of not doing it.'

'I just feel so useless- Aramis would be fighting tooth and nail if it was one of us!' he growled, before Athos gave him a look as his loud voice boomed around the empty corridor.

'I know he would be,' he agreed, voice barely more than a whisper. 'I know.'

They both looked up as they heard a set of boots making their way down the corridor towards them- they stood up straighter as the Cardinal moved into view, his face set in an odd expression. He turned on his heel to open the door to a large meeting room the King sometimes used for gatherings. 'In here. Now.' The Cardinal said, voice sharp as he stepped inside.

Athos and Porthos looked at each other, weighing their options. Was this a trick? In the end they both followed, only to find the Cardinal sat at the head of the table, a letter in his hand.

'Sit.'

'What's this about?' Porthos asked warily, keeping an eye on the door to the King's rooms that they were guarding- they couldn't ignore their other duties.

'The King has not been in his rooms for the past two days, so I wouldn't concern yourself with looking after his rooms.' the Cardinal said, voice like silk as Athos turned to him, eyes wide.

'We've been guarding empty rooms all this time?' he asked, voice dripping with anger.

'Naturally Treville wanted to keep you occupied.'

Athos stood up straighter, his face pale as he fought back a disbelieving snort. 'Where is he? He whispered, shaking his head as he made to stride out the door to confront the Captain.

'Ah, don't you want to know what this is? 'The Cardinal muttered, motioning the letter in his hands.

'Is it from Dumont?' Porthos asked, coming closer.

'I don't know when I became the personal postman for the Musketeer regiment...' The Cardinal muttered, ignoring the question.

'Give us the letter, damn you!' Athos moved forwards, eyes flashing, only for him to stop as the door closed behind him, heralding the arrival of a newcomer.

'I came as soon as I got the message.' Treville muttered from the door, looking to The Cardinal and the letter. 'Are you going to read it?'

'You little-' Athos felt a hatred and disgust that he had never felt before rise up from his stomach, as if it was fire that had erupted from the mouth of the great beast that resided there. It rose into his throat, causing him to lurch forwards with his hands curled into fists- before Treville could no anything Athos felt his arms move of their own accord to grasp the Captain by his coat and push him into the wall, smashing the glass of a picture with the force of it.

'You kept us here for no reason so we couldn't help find Aramis!' he yelled into his face. 'Just because you were scared we'd get captured too!'

As Treville tried to fight back Athos pushed him again into the wall, knocking the air of him. 'If your cowardice has resulted in Aramis' death I will hold you personally responsible!'

'Aramis come on!' Porthos shouted from behind him, before Athos felt two arms link around his chest and haul him away from Treville, who sank back onto his feet, breathing heavily.

'How could you have us guarding empty rooms when we could have helped?' Athos growled, also breathing heavily, as Porthos kept a tight hand on his upper arm. 'How?!'

'I told you, I did not want you two to get hurt, I-'

'We are not children! We are soldiers!'

'I lost too many good men to those two bastards!' Treville retorted, shaking his head. 'You three are my best, I thought I could spare you from harm if I kept you here, I-'

'But you should not protect us because you want to!' Athos replied, shaking his head. The two men looked across the room at each other, still breathing heavily as now neither man knew what to say.

A small cough from the table in the middle of the room made all three men look around- The Cardinal smiled sardonically around the room at the three of them.

'Well, that was exciting, wasn't it?' he said lightly, giving an over-dramatic sigh as he sat up straighter. He waved the letter again, its red lettering shining in the candlelight.

'Shall I now read what we all came here for?'

'Yes, please.' Porthos growled, looking warily across at Athos and Treville again before stepping forwards and pulling out a chair. He sat heavily as The Cardinal ripped open the letter and began to read.

 _Dearest Athos and Porthos._

 _By now it will have been five days since your deerist friend has been missing. He is well, I promise. Just the usual cuts and bruises- you no how men can get._

 _I did not get my money I asked for. Why? You know wat I said I wood do if I did not get my money._

 _I dont no how I can make myself more clear. Please accept this letter as proof that I will do whatever it takes to get my money- do you like the colour of the ink?_

 _Now your friend has been given some medicine he will feel better. He will need it for later._

 _I no people have been looking for him. I dont want it to be too easy so I will be moving him soon- you will never find him if you are not fast._

 _I do not like the soldiers that keep looking for your friend- I have killed many and put their bodees in the forest. I will send their heads back if you would lyke?_

 _You have one more chance. I will only let him go if you two give me the money yourselfs. No one else._

 _You have two days and then I will kill Aramis and send him back to you, piece by piece, I promise._

 _And as Treville knows- I always keep my promises._

 _Astor Dumont._

The Cardinal looked up as he finished reading, an unreadable look on his face as he and Treville exchanged glances.

Athos stood, the feet of his chair scraping the polished wood floor. 'Porthos, lets go. We need to pack.'

Porthos stood as well, nodding his head as his face set into an angry look. 'Finally...' he added, before Treville cleared his throat.

'Lads, I-'

'If you try and stop us now, so help me I'll-'

'Athos please, I am not the enemy here, you know that!' he growled, his voice so ferocious that Athos averted his eyes. 'I only wanted to keep you safe!' he added, before sighing. 'What I was going to say is that you can now take the lead on this. Take as many men that you need and whatever else you want.'

'Thank you,' Athos said, buttoning up his coat, before he looked to Porthos. 'But the letter said he will only let Aramis go when Porthos and I give him the money. If we take more men that could mean he kills him.'

'We will stay behind you- you cannot go out there alone.'

'Whatever you think is best, Sir.' Athos muttered- he was grateful that Treville had now given the order for he and Porthos to help, but he was still angry at him for taking so long.

'Uh, excuse me?' The Cardinal's voice made the three men look around again. 'I think we're forgetting something- what does it mean when it says "do you like the colour of the ink?"'

'Let me see...' Porthos muttered, taking the letter from the other man and studying it closely. A few seconds later he dropped it onto the table, his face white.

'Athos, lets go now.' he said, voice wavering slightly.

'What's wrong?' Treville muttered as he reached for the letter.

'It's written in blood, and I'm guessing its Aramis'!' Porthos replied. Athos looked up, face hardening as he let it sink in.

'Come on,' he growled, the two of them heading for the door. 'Let's go get our friend back.' he added, slamming the door behind them, leaving Treville and the Cardinal alone in silence.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Sorry this is a bit late, I've had quite a manic few weeks!**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter- things are only going to go downhill from here, though! But at least its Athos and Porthos to the rescue...right?**

 **Thanks for staying with this fic, I hope you enjoy the rest of it!**

 **Please review!**

 **X**


	9. Chapter 9

Wind whipped at Aramis' face, pressing his white shirt against his stomach and chest and blowing snow into his hair as a vision of hell itself played out in front of him.

He stood in the darkened shade of the forest of trees, his bare feet slowly numbing with cold as he watched as men ran around him, screaming and yelling out futile instructions as they stumbled, blinded in panic, as an army of men on horseback pushed them into a corner.

Blood spattered onto the white snow as young men fell, their eyes still open, onto the forest floor, staring into the dawn as chaos reigned over them.

Aramis felt emotion rise into his throat and tears sting his eyes as he watched, as he had done for so many nights, as his brothers met their ends. He moved his feet, a small bark of surprise escaping him as he realised he was stuck in position, that he could not move an inch.

A young man reeled past him, his blue eyes wide as he wiped brown hair from his face to look behind him, at the soldier on horseback with the sword in his hand that was pursuing him. 'Mathis!' Aramis yelled, his stomach lurching as he watched his friend scramble over a small, snow-covered bank and scrabble to gain purchase on un-laced boots in the icy terrain.

Aramis willed himself to move, to go and help his friend if he could, because he knew what happened next. He had re-lived it every time he closed his eyes since that night.

Mathis lost his footing as he clambered over a root of a large oak tree- even from so far behind him Aramis heard the yelp of pain and unbridled panic as Mathis swung round, his eyes wide as his mouth opened in horror.

The blade caught him in the chest,sending an arc of blood into the air as the young Musketeer reeled backwards, arms out like he was getting ready to fly. He landed heavily onto the forest floor, eyes open as he hit the ground, dirt flicking into his face.

Aramis choked out a cry of despair, his teeth chattering together as cold and pain enveloped him as he was forced to continue watching the slaughter of his friends.

He looked up as he heard his name being screamed out from somewhere to his left; he looked up, at the same time unconsciously being aware that he could now suddenly move.

His legs shook as he took a step forwards- he looked round, tears clouding his eyes, at the scene of devastation, eyes wide as he watched his brothers being massacred. He opened his mouth to shout to a nearby musketeer, to tell him that he was coming to help him, when his face was assaulted by a blast of coldness like he had never felt before.

Coughing and spluttering, he reeled backwards; he felt himself being pulled away, like someone had a rope around his waist and was pulling it with all his might.

'He's awake!' Astor cried, a large empty bucket in his hands as Aramis was pulled back into consciousness, retching on the water that had been thrown over him.

The medic looked round with wide, stinging eyes, utterly confused by his whereabouts as flashes of Savoy moved in his mind. He struggled with his binds and was brought back to the present entirely as his fingernail-less hand scraped against the wooden chair and caused him to yelp in pain.

He shook his hair from his face as Dumont laughed at him, his voice booming in the empty cellar.

Aramis looked around again; it was daylight outside, but as he couldn't see the sun he couldn't make out what time of day it was. How long had he been dreaming?

He looked back round slowly as Astor began speaking again; he bent down next to Aramis, smacking his face to make him look at him. 'Good stuff, isn't it?' he muttered, a horrible smile on his face.

'I...I wouldn't say that...' Aramis replied, coughing to get rid of his dry throat. He closed his eyes again as memories of that night, memories that he had been trying to bury since meeting Athos and Porthos, came back to him with a vengeance.

'Makes the pain go away, doesn't it?' Astor pointed out as he stood and walked backwards, eyes still on Aramis' face. Aramis groaned as he flexed his muscles and rolled his shoulder- the pain was still present, yet it had dulled down enough that he didn't cry out in pain if he moved suddenly.

'There's more of that upstairs if you like it- and trust me, you're going to need it.'

'Please...' Aramis muttered, water dripping into his eyes from his hair as he finally looked up to meet Astor's eyes. 'Please let me go.'

Astor laughed at that, shaking his head. 'Have you not been listening to anything I've said?' he asked, voice turning hard as he stepped closer to the Medic. 'You're not going anywhere. Not until your friends deal with my demands. ' He moved to the other side of the room and pulled a chair along the stone floor, making Aramis grimace at the noise, before slamming it down in front of Aramis' chair and sitting on it. 'And to be honest,' he muttered as Aramis looked up. 'I don't think we can really term them your friends, since it's been almost a week and no one has even come to look for you.'

'They are looking.' Aramis muttered, unable to hide his anger at the statement. 'And when they find you, they're going to kill you.'

'Clever words from a man who is tied to a chair, at the complete mercy of me.' Dumont noted with a humourless smile. 'Why do you people think you can decide what action is ever going to be taken?'

Aramis looked down as tiredness crept into his bones. He felt his hands begin to shake behind him, and his muscles in his legs cramped as he was forced to listen to Astor's diatribe as he worked himself up. 'You soldiers, you think that you can just ride in to any village or town and kill people for the fun of it?'

'You know we don't do that, we have orders, we-' Aramis yelped as Astor stood up and hit him across the face, eyes alight with anger.

'It was soldiers who came into my village and killed my Father!' he shouted, looking down at the Musketeer as Aramis looked back up, his eyes now creased in a feeling of defiance that even he wasn't sure had come from.

'It was the famous Musketeer regiment who rounded up my Father and his friends and shot them as they tried to run away!'

Aramis bit back a retort, knowing it wouldn't get him anywhere. 'They had orders, they-'

Another blow came at him, this time eliciting a yelp of pain from Aramis as his cheek erupted in agony and his blood dribbled from his nose. 'THERE WAS NO ORDER!' Astor cried, shaking his head as his eyes bulged in fury.

'Ok, alright...' Aramis groaned, his chin on his chest as he breathed heavily through the pain. 'There was no order...they just came and killed your Father for fun...but what does this have to do with me?'

Astor breathed out heavily through his nose, a dark chuckle escaping him as he sat back down on his chair, wiping his blood-stained hand on his trousers. 'Before the soldiers came to my village and began looking for my Father, my brother and I had been playing with him in the lanes by our house. I do not remember a lot of that time, as I was very young, but my brother told me about that day over and over, so I remember it as he did. When he heard the Musketeers arrive and saw them riding over the crest of the hill towards our house he ordered Thomas to grab me and to run home, but we didn't. We hid in a large bush and watched as my Father and his friends challenged the Musketeers, before they drew their weapons and began firing at them.'

Aramis looked up, grimacing as he felt a light-headedness wash over him. He thought it best to keep his mouth shut now or he may not have a nose left, so he kept quiet as Dumont began speaking again, eyes locked on the Medic's.

'As my Father began to run away Thomas says that a man shouted at him to stop, before this man leapt from his horse and shot my Father in the back. He landed right beside the bush we were hiding in; we watched him take his final, laboured breaths before his eyes shut. The man who had shot him came up beside him to make sure he was dead. Another man came closer and called out his name, shouting that they needed to get back to the City to report. I'll never forget that name for as long as I'll live- I was only young but the memory is seared into my brain.'

Aramis frowned as Astor took a deep breath. 'The man's name was Treville.' with that Astor stood and pulled the chair away, throwing it in the corner of the room with a crash. 'I swore that I would get my revenge, both for my Father's death and, later, for my Brother's.'

'I knew I could not hope to capture Treville himself, now he was Captain- so I vowed to get someone he felt closest to. I came to the city for weeks at a time to just watch, to observe. I spent maybe two, three years doing that, biding my time and planning. Finally I began to see a relationship that Treville seemed to nurture beyond any other. He thinks of you, Athos and Porthos as his sons, does he not?' he did not wait for Aramis to answer.

'I knew then what to do.' he came closer to the medic, eyes narrowed now as an anger coursed through him. 'I want to hurt Treville as he has hurt me. Kidnapping not only his best and brightest, but someone who Treville cares greatly about seemed to logical option.'

He stopped speaking as Aramis began to laugh deep in his throat, before he looked up at him. 'Treville doesn't even remember you, I'm sure- when they arrive to find me they will kill you, and you will be forgotten, just as your Father and Brother have been! I-' he groaned out again as Astor leapt forward and slapped him in the face, eyes now bulging.

'How will your friends find you if you are nowhere to be found?!' he yelled, before he walked to the bottom of the stairs and shouted for Thomas and his brother to come down. 'HOLD HIM DOWN!' he instructed.

'It seems that Treville and your friends have not got the message- I will give them a message they cannot ignore!' he shouted into Aramis' face, before he walked to a small box by the window and began rummaging around. Pulling out what he was looking for he advanced again on Aramis- the Medic's eyes widened as he saw he held a pair of long, rusting pliers.

'Please, lets just talk let-'

'The time for talking is over!' Dumont shouted. 'Was my letter written in your blood not enough to convince the King and Treville to answer my demands? Was the box of fingernails not enough?' he let out a manic, barked out laugh. 'Fine- I'm sure even they cannot ignore this! Open his mouth!'

'Please!' Aramis cried out, panic overtaking him like a hot tide as Thomas and his brother grasped his face and prised his jaws open. He thrashed around, not caring as his fingernail-less hand scrabbled against the chair; as Astor advanced he felt his body shake and a series of panicked whimpers escaped him. He threw out some garbled pleas as he tried to move his legs; his eyes opened wide as Astor finally stood in front of him, the pliers raised.

'Now, one or two?' he mused, before grinning as if he had had an idea. 'What about three? One for Treville, one for Athos and one for Porthos!'

Aramis whimpered again, tears and beads of sweat running down his cheeks as Astor bent down- as he placed the pliers around one of his teeth Aramis had to fight an urge to vomit as he tasted the acrid tinge of rust on his tongue. He groaned out as he felt pressure being applied- 'Ready?' Astor asked lightly, before he cleared his throat. 'Alright...three...two...one...'Aramis squeezed his eyes shut with a groan, preparing himself for the agony... before Astor released his tooth, took the pliers from his mouth, and stepped backwards with a chuckle.

There was a few seconds of silence as the two men also stepped backwards, leaving Aramis breathing heavily in his chair, adrenaline painfully coursing through him.

'Should've seen your face!'Astor taunted, shaking his head. 'And you call yourself a soldier?' he laughed again, throwing the pliers to the floor as Aramis bit back a frustrated cry; instead he looked down, gasping for breath.

He stiffened as he sensed Astor moving closer- he groaned as the other man grabbed a fistful of his hair and angled his face so he could whisper in his ear. 'You better hope your friends come soon, Aramis.' he started, his hot breath making Aramis feel sick to his stomach. 'Next time I'll take an eye.' With that he let go, dropping Aramis' head so his eyes were facing the floor again.

He didn't look up as he heard three sets of boots walk up the stone steps to the upper house, before the door was closed again and he was enveloped in silence, save for his own laboured breathing.

* * *

 **Poor Aramis- next chapter will be up soon!**

 **Thanks for reading, please review!**

 **X**


	10. Chapter 10

They rode in silence back to the village, steadfastly looking ahead as they passed rivers, fields and small hamlets; Athos' stomach now felt as if it was lead-lined it was so heavy, and his hands were tightly fisted in his reigns as they rode as fast as they could back to the place where they had last seen Aramis.

He was now in a constant state of heightened anxiety, although he was careful not to express it on his face for Porthos to see; every time he chanced a look to his left he saw his friend bent almost double on his horse, face lined with perpetual worry as they galloped back to the small village with the fountain.

In almost record time they arrived, however Athos cursed to himself as he realised it was already late afternoon; he hoped they would be able to find Aramis with the scant light that early autumn evenings offered. They swung their legs off their horses, who gratefully moved to the nearest water bucket and drank greedily; Porthos felt a pang of sadness and guilt as he gently patted his horse's back as it drank. He reminded himself to bring back some oats and apples if the market stalls were still open, before he and Athos began walking through the still-busy streets, eyes peeled for signs of Aramis or the people who had taken him.

After a while Porthos realised that this approach was going to get them nowhere. The people milling around took no notice of them; hardly any even looked up from their own lives to look at the newcomers as they swept the cobbled streets. He sighed deeply as they finally made their way to the fountain where Athos had first seen the waving Astor Dumont.

'How are we supposed to find him?' he asked, shaking his head. 'He might not even be here anymore!' he added, worry piquing in his chest again. 'They could be miles away..'

'We split up- you take the west side and I'll take the east. We meet back here in an hour- talk to anyone you can find; surely someone will recognise Astor's description?' Athos muttered, a muscle jumping in his jaw as his eyes scanned the people walking around. It was mostly women and older men who were still doing their shopping or standing in groups and talking. None matched Astor's build or face shape; he surmised it was going to be like finding a needle in a very large, crowded haystack.

'We should get Treville to bring backup in- we can't question all these people in an hour!' Porthos muttered, but he stood and readied himself; he'd go door to door all night if that was what it took to find Aramis.

'No- if Astor and his cronies did decide to stay around here, then any amplified presence from the Musketeers are just going to make them nervous.' Athos replied, before he sighed again. 'Lets go- we're wasting time and daylight.'

'Meet you back here in an hour, then.' Porthos nodded, before he and Athos walked off in different directions, hoping to reach as many people as they could.

Athos soon came to the conclusion that his presence was very much not welcomed in the town- each person he approached treated him with an air of suspicion, so much so that he ended up taking off his blue cloak and any other garment that signalled his status as a Musketeer to try and get people to speak to him, but to no avail.

As soon as he mentioned Astor's name they clammed up, refused to speak to him, or roughly pushed him away before walking swiftly up the street, not even looking behind them again.

After half an hour of trying to speak to hostile townspeople Athos was starting to get frustrated, and he could feel anger start to bubble up in his throat; why wouldn't these people just help them?

He sighed irritably as an old woman gave him what could only be described as a 'sour' look and moved away, her face set in an indiscernible mask that gave Athos a very horrible feeling nonetheless.

He approached a young man who he guessed was around the age of eighteen, sitting on a low wall with a mug of ale in his hands; he looked up from his drink as the Musketeer approached, an open yet suspicious look on his face.

'Evening,' Athos muttered, to which the young man gave a courteous nod. 'I was wondering if you'd been able to help me. I'm looking for a man called Astor Dumont. By chance you've heard of him?'

'Perhaps I have,' the man nodded, before taking a gulp of ale. 'Perhaps I haven't.' he added, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.'What's it to you?'

Athos inwardly sighed as he felt himself prickle with irritation again. 'Does he live round here?'

'Perhaps he does-' the man said, before Athos cut him off.

'-And I'm guessing your next sentence would be 'perhaps he doesn't?'' Athos shot at him, eyes narrowed.

The man sat back on the wall, unperturbed. 'Perhaps.'

Athos cursed under his breath, shaking his head and stepping away, mumbling under his breath angrily as he tried to spot Porthos; they were wasting time trying to get anything out of the locals about Astor's whereabouts.

'Oi, what did you just say?' the man muttered, standing up and placing his ale on a wooden table near a wall. Athos looked back, noticing that there was about ten other men sat dotted around them, their eyes locked on the two of them as the younger man walked up to Athos.

'Oh, so you do speak full sentences?' Athos muttered, looking him up and down. 'What a surprise.'

'Why do you want Astor Dumont?' the man growled, ignoring the goad.

'That's between Astor Dumont and I- and as you have been no help at all, I will be on my way.' Athos replied, before doffing his hat sarcastically. He turned and began walking away, before he sighed to himself as he felt a hand clamp onto his shoulder and turn him around.

'I don't have time-' he groaned out as the younger man punched him in the jaw, sending him stepping back a few steps. He put a reflexive hand to his face, massaging his chin as the man stepped back, eyes full of drunken, cocky bravado.

Hand itching to pull out his Musketeer cloak to show the little git who he was dealing with, Athos instead stood up straighter, hands out in surrender as the man readied himself for another go.

Alright, you win, I lose- I'm going to leave now, alright?' he muttered in a loud voice. 'And you're going to let me.'

'Oh, am I?' the man spat, looking to his friends who grinned and laughed.

'Let me guess- perhaps you will, perhaps you won't?' Athos provoked, his anger at their progress at finding Aramis being delayed intensifying as his jaw bruised and flared with pain.

The man's eyes widened as he processed this insult, before he came to Athos again, who was ready for him this time- he easily sidestepped the man as he lurched towards him, before groaning as the man wheeled round and caught him in the face with his fist.

The Musketeer stepped back, feeling warm blood trickle down his chin as he nose flourished in pain- he barely had a chance to look up as the man came at him again, both arms raised before he bodily pushed Athos to the ground, knocking the wind from him, before he took the opportunity to launch a furious assault on him, complete with well-aimed kicks with sturdy boots and indiscriminate blows with his fists.

Athos desperately tried to scramble up as his ribs exploded in pain; he groaned loudly as one of the other man's boots connected with his cheek. His hands scrabbled for his loaded pistol; if he could sound out a warning shot then perhaps the idiot would get off him- before he could even think about moving his hands he heard the man let out a strangled yell before the kicking abruptly stopped; he looked up from his position on the floor to find the young man almost entirely off the ground as Porthos held him by the scruff of his neck, his eyes alight with fury.

'What the hell is happening here?!' he shouted, not caring as some of the people watching them cowered from the force of his voice. He dropped the man, who promptly scrabbled up and took off up the street, not even chancing a look behind him.

Athos stood up gingerly, a hand to his bruised ribs. Porthos stepped forwards, still glowering as he put a steady hand out as Athos limped a little up the road. 'What happened to just questioning people?' he growled, shaking his head. 'You didn't have to fight them!'

'I didn't!' Athos replied. 'He hit me first!' he added, as if that settled the matter. Porthos sighed as he looked upon the locals, who now looked at them with angry faces instead of merely suspicious ones.

'Well great- there're not going to want to help us now!' he hissed as the two of them began a slow, and in Athos' case pained, walk back to their horses. 'How are we going to find out where Astor is now?!'

'They weren't talking anyway...' Athos growled, shaking his head. 'Did anyone you speak to even answer you properly?'

'I had a few grunts, but they looked scared I'd even mentioned his name.' Porthos admitted.

'D'you think they're hiding something? Or protecting him?' he added, looking around and sighed angrily.

Athos sighed as he leaned against a wall near the stables, massaging his bruised cheek. 'If what Treville said about him and his brother is true, then these people wouldn't take kindly to being reminded of him.' he muttered. He looked up as he heard someone "psst" at him from a shadowy alley that separated the stable from the main road into the village.

'Porthos.' he muttered as he stood up straighter- a young woman was frantically waving at them from the alley, beckoning them closer. As they approached her they could see that she was around twenty, with dirty brown hair and bare feet.

'You're looking for Astor Dumont?' she asked as the two men joined her in the shadow of the alley.

Athos nodded, eyes creased in a suspicion of his own. 'You know where he is?'

'I...I'm not sure.' she replied, voice low. 'I've noticed a lot of activity at his mother's old house these past few days. Its been abandoned for years, ever since the mother died, but I've seen candles and fires burning and...and...'

'And what, my lady?' Porthos asked, voice equally as low.

'I've heard a man screaming.' she answered, looking up with wide eyes. Athos and Porthos exchanged looks.

'Where is this house?' Athos muttered, voice urgent. 'Where?'

'Up the hill- it sits near a huge oak tree.' she replied, pointing up a dirt road. 'My brother told me I was hearing things, or my mind was playing tricks. That's why I've never told anyone...'

'You've told us now- thank you.' Porthos muttered, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his coin purse. He counted out some money and pressed into her hands. 'Thank you,' he said again with a smile, 'for being the only one who would speak to us.'

The woman nodded as the two men headed back up towards their horses, before they quickly made their way up the dirt road, the evening gloom beginning to press in on them from all sides.

* * *

The house was old and ramshackled, and Athos had to swallow down a feeling of annoyance; it looked like the house was indeed abandoned.

'No harm looking, eh?' Porthos muttered, as if reading his mind.

They got off their horses and walked up the overgrown, unkempt path to the old, white-painted front door. The paint was peeling off the surface and Athos had to wipe off a cobweb as he tried the door knob.

'Hello?' he called, heart sinking as the door clicked in the lock, holding fast. He rapped on the door with his gloved fist; dust came down and settled on his arms as the sound echoed around. 'Hello!'

Porthos peered into the dirty windows, sighing to himself as he saw the grates were empty, the rooms devoid of life. 'There's no one here.' he muttered, pushing himself away and coming to stand next to Athos. 'No one's lived here for years.'

Athos knocked on the door again, harder this time. 'Astor!' he yelled. He stepped back as Porthos banged on it as well, shouting out for someone to open up as Athos now peered into the windows, knocking on the glass as he squinted into the darkness.

'Aramis!' he shouted, his breath fogging the glass. 'Aramis!'

Athos tapped as hard as he dared on the glass, before shouting out again as Porthos joined him. They looked at each other, hoping they weren't sent on an wild goose-chase as they started shouting and knocking again.

* * *

Aramis looked up as he heard the knocking start to echo around the house. His heart missed a beat entirely as he heard someone very familiar shout out, although their words were muffled since he was down in the depths of the house.

'Porthos!' he called, before he coughed as his throat scratched with a dryness caused by non-use. He licked his dry lips before trying again. 'Porthos! Athos!' he shouted. A renewed feeling was crackling into life; he felt his body invigorate somehow as he heard Athos now shouting out.

They had found him after all! He couldn't believe it, he had almost given up hope...

'Athos!' he shouted again, before he looked to the stairs as he heard someone run down them.

He stiffened as Astor strode into the room, a pistol in his hand. He pressed it in the middle of Aramis' forehead, mouth twisted in anger.

'Utter one more word and I will shoot you.' he hissed.

'Then kill me!' Aramis spat, his feeling of elation quickly, painfully, turning into one of despair as he felt the coldness of the gun barrel press against his head.

Astor grinned sardonically at that.'No, that would be too easy.' he whispered, still pressing the gun against the medic's head. 'Thomas and his brother are outside right now- all I have to do is given them a signal and they'll shoot Athos and Porthos where they stand. So I would shut up unless you want them to die too.'

'You wouldn't.' Aramis muttered, teeth chattering with the adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins.

'Try me.' Astor muttered, before both men looked up as they heard more knocking, the sound booming around the house. Aramis choked back emotion as he heard Athos calling his name loudly, before Porthos did the same.

'How sweet.' Astor goaded in a whisper, a small, twisted smile on his face as Aramis tried- and failed- to stop a tear falling down his as his two friends continued shouting his name and pounding on the door.

A few seconds later the knocking stopped entirely, and after a number of minutes passed the door to the stairs opened again and Thomas stepped into the room, a gun in his arms. 'They've gone.' he reported.

Astor shrugged and moved his hand, putting the gun he was holding back in his pocket. Aramis sank back into his chair, exhaustion creeping in again. 'They'll be back.' he muttered with an assurance even he wasn't sure he truly believed, his wrists on fire as he relaxed them after furiously trying to escape to his friends.

'I don't doubt it.' Astor replied, 'We've got to move to the next part of the plan sooner than I hoped..' he added, before he clicked his fingers to Thomas. Aramis looked up to see the younger man passing the brown bottle of tincture to him; he shook his head as Astor uncorked the bottle.

'No, please- I don't want it...' he muttered, trying to move away as Astor came closer, the bottle clasped in his hand.

'Open your mouth.' he growled. Aramis shook his head, trying to curl into himself as Astor sighed angrily. 'I won't ask again!'

'Please, I don't want it,' Aramis begged- he didn't want to go back to that time, not again...

Astor clicked his fingers again, and Aramis watched as Thomas walked round to his other side- he struggled against him as Thomas held his head steady.

'Please, please...' he grunted, before he groaned as Thomas squeezed his jaw so his mouth opened, allowing Astor to pour some of the liquid into his mouth; the liquid trickled down his chin as he tried to spit it out as Thomas clamped a hand over his mouth. Astor seemed to have a different trick; Aramis' eyes widened as Astor punched him in the stomach, forcing him to swallow the tincture so he could gasp out in pain.

Both men stepped away as Aramis sank down into his chair, cursing loudly. Thomas reached into his jacket and produced two strips of black-dyed cloth; he passed them to Astor, who stepped forwards and used one as a gag on the medic. He chuckled as he saw Aramis' eyes were already fluttering shut. 'Keep increasing the dose every night, Thomas.' he instructed, tying to gag tightly before draping the other piece of cloth over Aramis' closed eyes and tying that tightly at the back of his head.

'What if they come back?' Thomas asked as the men watched Aramis' head sink forwards, until his chin settled on his chest.

'Who?' Astor muttered as he stowed the bottle of tincture back in his pocket.

'His friends- Athos and Porthos.' Thomas replied. 'Do you think they'll come back?'

Astor chuckled as he led the way back up the stone steps and into the main house. 'I'm counting on it.' he replied, before shutting the door with a snap and locking it, leaving Aramis below them, fighting another battle entirely.

* * *

 **Well, that was probably one of the longest chapters I've ever written, but I didn't know where to stop!**

 **I hope you liked it; poor old Aramis- so close!**

 **Next chapter up soon, please review!**

 **A/N- I have another poll on my profile; if you'd like to take a look and vote I'd be grateful!**

 **X**


	11. Chapter 11

The fire crackled into the night, spitting orange and red embers into the air as the wood burnt white between Porthos and Athos. Athos was sat nearest the fire, the amber flames heating his face and hands as he stared into it, thinking.

Porthos, meanwhile, could not do all his thinking inside his head. He was, as Aramis often put it, an open book, and anyone who knew him well enough could guess what he was thinking just by body language alone. He sat cross-legged on the wet grass, opposite Athos, his large hands drumming his boot as he fidgeted, his brain whirring with anxiety. More than once he unnecessarily poked the fire, sending the bright embers into the air along with a plume of choking smoke into the face of the man opposite him.

'Sorry,' he muttered after the third time, before he sighed deeply and sat back, the branch he had been using to poke the fire firmly in his nervous hands. 'We shouldn't have left that house.' he said after a while, looking over to Athos, who finally looked up.

'You said it yourself Porthos,' he muttered, pulling his cloak around him. 'No one has lived there for years.'

'But that woman seemed so sure.' His friend mumbled, snapping the branch into two, then three pieces, before throwing it over his shoulder with another sigh. 'She said she heard a man screaming.'

'Foxes?' Athos replied, his voice low as he pulled a skin of wine from his pack. They sat again in silence, save for the sounds of crickets and owls in the small forest they had camped in.

'But we didn't really look, did we?' Porthos growled, shaking his head. 'We just looked in the window and just assumed that no one lives there because no one opened the door for us!'

Athos slowly nodded his agreement and uncurled his legs, which were going numb from where he was sitting on them. As if on cue, a fox screamed somewhere in the distance; the two men looked at each other, the same thoughts running through their minds.

'Does that sound like a man screaming to you?' Porthos asked, an eyebrow raised. 'Because it doesn't sound like one to me.'

Athos sat back, his mind whirring. 'What do you suppose the time is?' he asked, wiping tired eyes as he tried to combat his need for sleep.

Porthos looked up at the sky, before sighing again. 'No idea. Maybe nearly midnight, perhaps just after?'

Athos nodded before standing up and brushing down his trousers. 'Come on.' he said, putting his gloves on and walking to his horse.

'What are we doing?' Porthos replied, coming to stand next to his friend as he watched Athos ready himself.

'I think you're right.' Was his reply. The swordsman looked at him, blue eyes round with worry. 'I think the woman was right. We need to go back to that house and look inside.'

'Now you're talking!' Porthos said with a hopeful chuckle. Minutes later and they were both ready- Athos instructed that they leave the horses where they were, as they were close enough to fetch if they needed any help, but their noise could attract attention.

As they approached the house Athos' stomach churned with anxiety and a very faint feeling of hope. The woman had seemed concerned when she mentioned the screaming, and after all, if it wasn't Aramis, then surely it had to be something?

The darkened, shadowy silhouette of the house loomed over them like a spectre; wreathed in darkness it looked menacing. Without a word, Porthos tapped Athos on the chest and motioned an upstairs window, where they could both see the faint orange, flickering glow of a candle.

'See!' he whispered, to which Athos nodded, adrenaline beginning to fizz in his body.

'You go round the back, and I'll take the front.' he instructed.

Porthos nodded and the two split up. Athos slowly climbed the steps to the front door, his hand now firmly wrapped around his pistol. His other hand curled around the doorknob, which he tried despite knowing full-well that it would be locked.

He looked down in surprise when the door opened easily; he was sure it had been locked when he had last tried it. Unease trickled into his chest, but he pushed it away as he stepped inside the gloomy house, eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness.

Something was wrong. He knew it; not just because of the fact the door was unlocked. It was something else, something suspicious about the entire house. He stepped into the living area, eyes flicking to the mantelpiece, caked in decades-old dust, and the sideboards which were thick with grime.

He swore under his breath and looked down as his weight caused the floor-boards to creak. Looking back up, his eyes roved the downstairs to make sure he was alone.

Nothing stirred. He continued his search, a frown now on his face. It was obvious that no one lived here, or at least used the downstairs portion of the house. He came out of the living area and peered up the stairs, to the blackness of the upper floor.

They had seen a candle, of that he was sure of. He put a foot on the bottom step to climb up, but as he did so he heard a noise from what he assumed was the kitchen, further down the corridor. Porthos? He wondered, before he waited for a few seconds for his friend to appear in the hallway. Another dull noise met his ears, and he stepped off the bottom step, his pistol firmly in front of him as he slowly walked forwards down the corridor.

The only inclination that something was about to go very wrong was when he heard a rapid succession of squeaks as someone ran fast down the length of the corridor, the floorboards creaking under his weight; before Athos could do anything to defend himself his gun arm was thrown upwards and into the wall.

He clenched his fist instinctively so he didn't drop his gun- with a grunt of pain he lurched backwards as someone punched him in the face and pushed him hard into the wall, before a hand laced around his throat and began squeezing; Athos' free hand flew to the man's fist, scratching and scrabbling at it as he felt his airway close as the man squeezed as hard as he could. The man didn't seem to even register this, as he used his other hand to clench his gun arm and start to smack Athos' hand against the wall until he finally dropped the gun, sending it skittering down the corridor.

With a garbled yelp he took this opportunity to punch the man choking him in the jaw, sending him to the side and thankfully loosening his grip; he followed up the punch with another blow to the face, before kicking the figure to the ground.

The man was up in seconds, and even in the dank evening light Athos could see his eyes were narrowed and full of anger. He sidestepped a vicious blow, before ducking as the man turned, unperturbed.

'Who are you?!' Athos tried to say, but all that could come out was a garbled mess of words as his throat protested. The man did not offer any idea he had even heard him; he came back up the corridor, both hands in front of him; Athos' eyes widened as the man grasped his coat and pushed him bodily to the ground, where he landed, winded, in a heap by the kitchen.

He looked around as the man started moving forwards again; his eyes caught a flash of silver- with seconds to spare he fumbled the gun into his grip; just as the man bent down to pull Athos back up the Musketeer brought the gun up and fired, sending the man off his feet and onto the floor, where he finally lay still.

Coughing and retching, Athos sat up, temporarily deafened by the shot in such close quarters. He scrabbled upwards, sinking into the wall and massaging his throat. He stiffened as he heard movement from behind him; before he could look round he was pushed bodily forwards with such force he was thrown off his feet entirely, hitting the floor with a surprised yelp.

He swivelled round just as a very large man came into view; he scrabbled upwards as the man stopped and looked down at the crumpled figure of the man that Athos had just shot.

'Thomas?' the man muttered, voice low as he continued to look down at the body on the floor. He looked back up at Athos as the swordsman stood up straighter, breathing heavily.

'Listen to me,' he muttered, his hands in front of him as the large man in front on him finally looked up. 'He came at me, he-' he didn't have a chance to finish his sentence as the other man's eyes narrowed and he came up to him, fist raised.

Athos managed to duck the first blow, but he wasn't so lucky with the second- he grunted out in pain as he felt blood pour from his nose. The other man roared in anger as he pummelled his fists into any part of Athos he could reach. After a well-placed punch to the side of the head made Athos see stars, he sank to the floor, blinking blood from his eyes as a cut opened up on his eyebrow.

The man suddenly stiffened and drew backwards, trying to scrabble for something that was behind him. He keeled over a few seconds later, and as Athos gingerly sat up again, his head bruised and bloodied, he saw the shadow of Porthos in front of him. He peered round and saw the other man had a knife deep in his back, the moonlight shining on the handle.

'Are you alright?' Porthos cried, falling to his knees beside Athos as the swordsman coughed wetly, wiping his bloodied nose with his sleeve.

'You're late.' he replied, groaning in pain as he sat back, eyes closed.

'Sorry,' Porthos muttered, concern evident in his voice. 'That door was harder to pick than I thought. When I heard the gunshot I just kicked it down.'

'I'm glad you did.' Athos nodded, before he sighed deeply and put a hand on Porthos' shoulder, using it to lever himself up. 'He's here somewhere, Porthos.' he muttered, walking into the middle of the room. 'I know it.'

'Have you checked upstairs?' Porthos asked, coming to stand next to him.

'Well between being throttled and then having my head almost caved in I didn't really have time, did I?' Athos replied tartly, before they both stopped as they heard a noise that seemed to emanate from below them.

'A cellar!' Athos muttered, before they both made their way to the area near the stairs. 'There must be a door somewhere...' he added; he looked up as Porthos let out a low whistle.

He walked over to where Porthos was standing, his hand already around the black door-handle. Athos nodded, stepping back to ready his pistol again as Porthos opened the door, which opened without so much as a squeak.

They descended the hard, stone steps in silence, Athos in front with his gun, Porthos behind. Athos saw the flickering of a candle somewhere to their left. As they stepped off the stairs he could see the room opened out into a cavernous space.

His eyes widened as he saw two figures in the middle of the room, barely illuminated by the flickering candle. One figure was stood, whilst the other was sat, bound to a chair.

'Evening, gents.' Astor's voice was immediately identifiable. 'I didn't expect you to come so soon.'

Porthos stared at the man sat down, shrouded in darkness. 'Aramis?' he muttered, voice barely more than a whisper. 'Aramis?' He peered closer, before finally realising that Aramis had a gag and a blindfold on, and his head was down, his chin almost touching his chest.

'He won't be able to answer you, for obvious reasons.' Dumont replied, voice light. 'Actually, he's probably still asleep.' he added, almost as an afterthought. Athos frowned, his gun-arm almost faltering entirely as Dumont reached down and gave Aramis' face a hard slap.

'Don't-!' Porthos growled, coming forwards- quick as a flash Dumont had aimed his gun under Aramis' chin.

'One more move and you'll have come all this way for nothing!' he hissed. There was a few seconds of silence before Porthos moved backwards, coming to stand next to Athos.

'That's better.' Dumont nodded, stowing the gun away. He laced his fingers under Aramis' blindfold and took it off; Athos could see his eyes were closed.

'Wakey wakey...' Dumont sing-songed, before giving his face another hard slap. Aramis groaned from behind the gag, moving his head upwards as he finally came back to consciousness from another drug-enduced sleep. 'Look whose come to see you!' Astor added, voice high.

His eyes flickered open, slowly focusing on the room around him.

'Aramis?' Athos muttered, elation coursing though him, coupled with a deep, encompassing anger. He could see that his friend was in a bad way; his face was more angular, his cheek-bones more precise through lack of food, and he felt the anger bubble as he saw the dried blood caking his white undershirt. But they had found him, and he was alive, and that was all he cared about at this moment.

Aramis' eyes widened as his eyes finally settled on his two dear friends; he flexed his bound hands and tried to say something through his gag.

Athos looked back up to Astor, who was looking down at Aramis as if he was a proud parent. 'You bastard.' he spat, eyes dark with anger.

Astor smiled at that, before reaching into his coat and pulling out a long knife; he held it at Aramis' throat.

'I'm afraid you've come here for nothing.' he muttered with a mock-sigh. 'If you two don't leave I will kill him. You've got five seconds.'

Aramis looked up, his eyes round and creased in a way that broke Porthos's heart. Athos tightened his grip on his gun.

'Or I could just shoot you now.'

'I bet I could cut his throat quicker than you could shoot that.' Astor goaded, bringing the knife closer to Aramis' neck. 'You might miss me and hit Aramis.'

'I'm a pretty good shot, or so I'm told.' Athos growled.

'Do you really want to take that chance?'

'Enough talk!' Porthos growled, voice loud in the silence. He pulled out a brown bag of money from his pocket and threw it on the floor, where it hit the stone with a dull flump.

'This is what you wanted, isn't it?' he muttered, voice dripping in anger. 'Well, it's all right there, courtesy of Treville and the King.'

Dumont looked down at the sack of money, before he snorted and shook his head. 'It was never about the money.' he finally said, looking back up to Porthos.

'Let Aramis go and we can talk about this.' Athos growled, finger tightening on the trigger.

'What, on my way to the hangman's noose?' Astor snorted out another laugh before shaking his head.

'Let Aramis go and we can talk.' Athos repeated.

'You see, I never really wanted to money.' Astor continued as if Athos hadn't even spoken. 'I just wanted to destroy Treville as he had destroyed my family...by killing his family.' With that he bent down even more, turning to Aramis as he started to move his hand down to cut his throat.

Athos fired once, meeting his mark, just as he knew he would. The two men watched as Dumont was flung backwards, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Athos was at Aramis' side in seconds, untying the gag just as Porthos cut the binds on his arms and legs from the chair. The Medic all but fell into Athos' arms as he was finally released; Athos cursef to himself as he felt Aramis' ribs under his hands as the two of them embraced.

'You found me..' he heard Aramis whisper.

'Of course we did,' he replied, hugging the other man more as he sank down onto the floor.

'Knew you would...' he muttered, resting his chin on Athos' shoulder. 'Knew you would...'

'Let's get you up.' Athos said after a few seconds; between he and Porthos they managed to get Aramis to his feet- Porthos smiled when, as soon as Aramis caught sight of him his face melted into a pained grin, before the two men embraced for a few seconds.

'H-how did you find me?' Aramis asked as they finally moved apart. He felt lightheaded as he teetered on his own; he hadn't been able to stand up for days, after all.

'It doesn't matter,' Athos replied, putting a steady hand on Aramis' shoulder. 'We have, that's the main thing...' he added, smiling sadly as Aramis nodded, fingers lacing into Athos's shoulder as he fought to keep upright.

He was free. He choked back as sob as he felt his body sag in relief; they had found him, just as he knew they would...

'Let's get you back to the city,' Porthos said, eyes roving Aramis' emaciated body. 'You need a hospital.'

Aramis allowed himself to be moved, limping, to the foot of the stairs. 'What did they do to you?' Athos breathed, looking at the bloodied scars on his friends' forearms, obviously from where they had used his blood to write the letter.

'I..' Aramis muttered, before looking at Athos with such a scared look that the swordsman dropped the subject and helped him up the stairs.

'Porthos, go and get the horses,' he instructed the other man, who nodded and disappeared out of the house.

'Come on, come and sit down for a second.' he muttered to Aramis, who stiffened as Athos took his arm.

'I...I've had enough sitting down...' he whispered, before realising his hands were shaking and his heart felt as if he had just ran a mile non-stop. Fuzzy images of Savoy flickered in his mind, and as he wiped his face with a shaky hand he knew what he had to do, as much as he hated the thought of it.

Athos, meanwhile, was still leading him into the living area to await Porthos' return.

'When we get back to the City we can get you checked over...' he muttered, before stopping as he realised Aramis had stopped walking behind him. He looked back and saw his friend looking down at the body of the first man Athos had killed.

'Aramis?'he whispered, concern in his voice.

'H-his name was Thomas.' The Medic replied, his expression unreadable. 'He was working with Dumont.'

Both men looked up as they heard Porthos shout from outside. Athos looked round to Aramis, who had resumed his staring at Thomas, as if deep in thought.

'I'm going to go out and get the horse sorted for you, alright?' he said. 'Will you be alright here for a few seconds?'

Aramis looked up and gave his friend a tired smile. 'Of course.' he whispered. With a nod, Athos disappeared, leaving Aramis alone with Thomas.

With great difficulty the medic knelt down, hissing with pain as his whole body protested. Quickly, he rummaged in the dead man's pockets, fingers curling round two small glass bottles.

Pulling them out his quickly he stowed the brown bottles of tincture in his own pocket, before painfully stepping over Thomas' body and coming to the door, where his friends were readying the horses.

 **End of part one.**

 **Thank you for reading- please review!**

 **The next part will focus much more on the tincture and the fall-out from Aramis' experience with Dumont and what it means for both him and everyone else.**

 **X**


	12. Part Two

PART 2

It had started to rain as soon as soon as the three men left for the journey back to Paris. Porthos looked up at the inky black sky with distaste, cursing each drop of rain as it hit his cheeks; Aramis was not in the condition to be making a long journey in the pouring rain. He looked across at his friend, eyes widening with worry as he saw his brother shivering despite wearing Athos' and Porthos' cloaks as well as his own. His skin was still a pallid grey, with dark shadows under his eyes as he seemed to fight to stay conscious.

'Aramis, you alright?' he asked in a low voice as he slowed his horse to come next to his friend. He knew full-well that Aramis was not alright in the slightest, but he had to ask.

Aramis gave a small chuckle and looked across to Porthos, flashing him a small, tired smile before answering. 'Never been b-better.' He shuddered violently, throwing out his hands to stop himself from toppling from his horse with the force of it.

'Steady...'. Athos muttered as he came level with Aramis' other side- he put a hand on Aramis' shoulder, but concern soon flooded through him as Aramis immediately balked and shrugged the hand away.

'M'alright...' he muttered, before giving Athos the same smile he had offered Porthos. 'Tired.'

'I know..' Athos nodded, trying to swallow down his worry. He looked across to Porthos, who he knew was thinking the same as he was. It was almost a day's ride back to Paris, and at the pace that they were going it could be perhaps two.

The night was suddenly illuminated by a huge fork of lightening somewhere up ahead of them- Aramis threw out a hand in alarm, catching Athos' sleeve and holding on with such a grip the swordsman was sure his fingernails had drawn blood; he looked up as the white light shone down on his friend, lighting up just how the last few days had affected him. He looked almost childlike in fear as the unexpected lightening erupted; his eyes widened and he seemed to tense up into himself, as if protecting himself from any attack.

Seconds later and an almighty crack of thunder made them all look up; Porthos calmed Aramis' horse from bolting whilst Athos put his other hand on Aramis' shoulder, relieved at once that Aramis did not shy away.

'Athos we can't stay out here!' Porthos shouted as rain cascaded down on them, soaking them all to the bone. 'He doesn't need to get ill too!' He added, nodding to Aramis, who was still shaking under his cloaks as the noise abated.

Athos nodded, pushing rain soaked hair out his eyes as he looked up the path ahead. 'I don't think there are any inns for miles,' he growled, frustration now filling him. 'Or any houses.'

'M'okay...want to go h-home...' Aramis muttered, eyes flickering open and closed.

'Hey, hey...keep your eyes open, 'Mis!' Athos cried, shaking his friend's arm.

Aramis' eyes opened sleepily, his hair plastered to his forehead. 'Sorry...'

'Don't be sorry- come on, just stay awake for me and I'll find somewhere to shelter...' Athos promised, eyes scanning the treeline as they continued their ride in the pouring rain.

His eyes narrowed as they fell upon a dark shadow in the trees to their left. It looked like an old, abandoned gamekeeper's lodge.

'Over there!' he muttered, his own teeth chattering in the cold as he led the two other men off the path and onto a small dirt track that led to the dilapidated house.

It was completely empty, probably looted many years ago for any salvageable items, but at least it had a roof and a door.

'In here, quickly...' he ordered, helping Aramis down from his horse as his friend all-but slipped off his saddle.

'Steady, steady...' he whispered, rearranging the cloaks to help cover the medic as they made their way into the house.

'I've got some wood in my pack to start a fire,' Porthos said as he shut the door behind them all with a bang.

'Good, that's good...' Athos nodded appreciatively. He helped Aramis over to what he presumed would have been the small living area when the lodge had still been in use.

He was pleased to see a small carpet still on the stone floor; he scooped it up and draped it over Aramis' shoulders before he leaned against the wall, eyes finally shutting as unconsciousness claimed him at last.

'Should we wake him up?' Porthos muttered as he set about making a small fire.

'No, let him sleep.' Athos whispered, sighing deeply in concern as they watched their friend in fitful slumber. 'He needs to rest.'

'We need to get those wet clothes off him- he's gonna catch a cold and in his state that'll be the death of him!' Porthos pointed out.

'I have some clothes in my pack, and a spare cloak.' Athos nodded, before sighing again. He turned to Porthos and nodded to the fire. 'Get that going first and we'll get him sorted.'

He turned away to ready the fresh clothes- soon they were ready to get Aramis as warm and dry as they could possibly make him.

As each layer of clothes were taken off Athos became more and more angry- once they had finally taken off Aramis' shirt he had to bite his tongue to stop himself swearing loudly. He sat back, seething, as the bruises and dried blood that covered their friend's chest and arms were illuminated in flickering orange light. His shoulder was a mass of blue-green bruising, and there were various other bruises of varying levels of healing peppered across his ribs and chest.

'What did they do to you...?' he whispered, shaking his head. He looked up at Porthos, whose jaw was set and a nerve was jumping in his cheek.

'Death was too good for those bastards...' he growled. They looked down their friend's body, anger pumping through them as they took in the scars snaking down his forearms. 'That's how they wrote that letter.' Athos whispered,taking one of Aramis' wrists and turning it to get a better look. They both looked up as Aramis, eyes still closed, squirmed against his grasp and let out a pitiful moan, of pain or fear neither man could tell.

'Shh, it's alright...' Porthos muttered, gathering up the fresh shirt. 'We'll sort you out...' he added- he looked across to Athos, whose eyes were still alight with fury. 'Lets just get him dressed- we can deal with the rest later.'

Nodding, they both quickly worked to get the shirt over Aramis' head before putting on fresh trousers and covering him with the dry carpet. They stepped back and watched as their friend continued to sleep fitfully; his eyes were moving beneath the lids, and every so often a moan or a slew of half-formed words would escape him, and he would curl into himself, until he was lying on the floor in a ball, his face illuminated by the fire.

'Looks like Treville was right about Dumont after all,' Porthos growled. 'He was a nutter.'

'And now he's dead.' Athos muttered, turning to Porthos with a sigh. 'And we've got to pick up the pieces.' He bent down to the tend the fire. ' I'll see if I can catch a rabbit or two out in this storm.' he said as he stood back up again. 'He needs something to eat.'

'Yeah, looks like he hasn't eaten in days.' Porthos nodded. 'I'll keep the fire going and see if I can dry some of his clothes.'

'Good idea...' Athos replied, before heading for the door and closing it behind him with a snap.

* * *

When Aramis awoke the fire was going out- he looked around, eyes widening and his heart falling into his stomach as sudden thoughts that he had been left behind again raced through his mind.

He could almost taste the relief as his eyes fell onto two dark shapes on the other side of the fire; Porthos and Athos, sleeping.

He lay back as his aches and pains, now so familiar to him, began seeping into his bones as his body woke from his unconscious state. It was so cold that his hands hurt to clench them, and his body was shaking so much he could hardly move; he managed to get his hands into his trouser pockets, fumbling against the cold as he felt around for the tincture. As his hands closed on air, alarm prickled his skin. _Where were they?_

He looked up and saw a make-shift wooden contraption near the fire, on which was laid some clothes. Groaning, he circled his feet and legs to get some movement back into them. He stopped as he readied himself to get up. Hesitating, he lay back down, disgust and fear settling into his heart.

 _You don't need it,_ he told himself. _You've dealt with worse injuries and never needed it._

His shoulder suddenly flared in such pain that he almost cried out. Flashes of Savoy raced in his mind's eye, almost taking his breath away as he sank down, his chin hitting the cold floor of the room.

 _One more mouthful wouldn't hurt..._ a new voice spoke up, the tone almost warming to his confused mind. _It will take the pain away. You know it will. If they find it in the morning they will destroy it- they wouldn't understand..._

The medic looked up as Porthos snored and rubbed his eyes. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew that they would not be asleep for very much longer. It was now or never.

Groaning deep in his throat, he pulled himself into a sitting position, then used his shaking arms to prop himself up on the wall and drag his pain-ridden body up into a standing position. He was so tired, deep in his bones, but he knew he had to get those bottles.

Almost dragging his feet along, he slowly made his way to the fire, now full of ash and flickering embers. Bending down, his shoulder crackled in pain as his bruised ribs danced in agony too- he quickly searched for his trousers, keeping his eyes on his friends the whole time as he rootled around in the pockets; his heart soared as his fingers curled round the glass bottles once more. Quickly he stowed them in the new pockets and started making his way slowly back to his spot.

'Aramis?' Porthos muttered from the darkness, making the medic jump and stop stock still, eyes wide. 'What're you doing up?'

'I needed to move around.' Aramis whispered as he turned round to face his friend and gave him a pained smile, before moaning slightly as his shoulder protested as he slid back down the wall into a sitting position. 'Couldn't lay down any more.'

'As long as you're alright?' Porthos replied, eyes creased in concern.

'I'll be alright, Porthos.' Aramis tried to smile, but found that he couldn't. 'I will.' he added, although for Porthos' benefit or his own, he didn't know.

Porthos was quiet for a few moments as he studied his friend in the dying firelight; Aramis' white shirt hung off his leaner frame, and the darkness enunciated his jutting cheek bones. He could no longer see the bruises he and Athos had discovered, but he still felt anger as he remembered them. 'What did they do to you?' he asked quietly, surprising himself- he knew Aramis wouldn't want to talk about it straight away. He had been the same after Savoy.

Aramis looked across to his friend; he wiped a shaking hand down his stubbled cheek, accidentally brushing the area of skin over the gum where Astor had threatened to remove his tooth. A ripple of pain made him stop. 'I..I don't...' he stammered, swallowing hard as a wave of emotion washed over him, making him feel sick.

'I'm sorry, you don't have to say anything, I shouldn't have asked.' Porthos said quickly, cursing himself, before moving to get up and help his friend- Aramis waved him back down. 'It's alright, don't get up, I'm alright...' he assured him, trying to quell the feelings as best he could. He needed Porthos to go back to sleep.

'You know Athos and I will be here to help?' Porthos asked quietly as he lay back down, before nodding down to the man sleeping fitfully beside him, shivering slightly with cold.

'Of course. Thank you for...for getting me out.' he swallowed hard as a flash of those terrible few days appeared in his mind, and the overwhelming fear that he would never be found. 'I- I knew you wouldn't abandon me.'

'You don't need to thank us, ever.' Porthos nodded, giving him a smile.

'I know. I wanted to.' Aramis replied. He looked outside at the dark sky. 'Why don't you try to get some more sleep? I'll be alright.'

'You sure? Don't you want anything to eat?'

'I'll be alright for a couple more hours.' Aramis didn't mention that he hadn't had real food for days now, so a few more hours would hardly hurt.

'Alright, if you're sure.' Porthos nodded, giving his friend a reassuring smile. 'Give us two more hours and we'll start making our way home.'

 _Home_. Aramis smiled at the thought, before nodding to his friend and cocooning himself back into the cloaks he had left on the floor. He watched as Porthos turned away and try to get back to sleep; he waited for a few minutes to make absolutely sure he was fully asleep before his fingers curled back round the bottle of tincture, the glass cool against his shaking fingers.

Taking the bottle out of his pocket he studied it in the dying firelight, eyes creased and mouth lined with worry as he shook the glass, watching as the brown liquid sloshed around. _One mouthful wouldn't hurt_ , he thought to himself once more; he unstoppered the bottle and, before he could change his mind, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a large draft.

Quickly he put the cork back on the bottle and stored it back in his pocket just as the familiar feeling spread quickly from his stomach and washed over him like warm waves; a strong pull into a softly cushioned oblivion. He leant his head back onto the cold wall as his eyes flickered shut once more, the room he was in fading in a whirl of colours and sounds as he felt himself being pulled back into darkness...

* * *

 **I'm back :) I am so sorry for the delay- all I can say is that writer's block is very cruel.**

 **Thank you for reading- I did enjoy coming back to this fic, so I hope people will enjoy this new chapter, although it has been over a year since the last chapter...**

 **Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

Ravens cawed loudly from the rooftop of the palace, their black outline almost blending in amidst a rapidly-darkening stormy sky; it has been steadily raining for the past two days, however the King did not appreciate being cooped up inside the Palace as the rain hammered down on the streets of Paris.

This meant that, despite the still pouring rain outside, the King was presently in the grounds of the palace playing croquet against a very soggy courtesan; the King naturally had two servants on either side of him holding an umbrella to make sure he was as dry as a bone as he ferociously smacked the ball with his mallet, sending it skittering across the muddy grass.

Treville was stood to the side of the small group, sighing as drops of water plinked off his hat and ran down his cheeks onto his boots; a cold wind was also blowing straight into his face, chilling him to his core. He looked up as a ripple of thunder made the King look around with wide eyes before resuming his game,which seemed to Treville to not be a game of skill, or strategy, but merely to see how hard and far he could hit the ball, before standing back as a servant ran down the small hill to fetch the ball back for him.

The only thing that caused him some amusement on this afternoon was that the King had demanded that the Cardinal also came outside to watch him play; the other man was stood to the left of the Captain, his dark cloak saturated in rain and his hair plastered to his head; the Cardinal rigidly stood staring straight ahead at the low mist that shrouded the outer grounds, avoiding all eye contact with anyone.

Treville sighed again, wiping his face with a shaky, cold, gloved hand- he could think of a thousand things he would rather be doing at this time; Athos and Porthos had now been gone over three days. His stomach had been a knot of anxiety since the moment they had left to find Aramis; he sorely wished he was able to ride out and help the two of them find him, but the Cardinal had made it clear that the King was not to be told of Astor's return, no matter how urgent the situation; the incident with the fingernails had almost pushed the King over the edge, and Treville knew better than to push the issue, no matter how much he wanted to.

Both men looked across to the King as he whooped loudly; evidently he had won. 'The best of three!' he ordered as he spied the Courtesan slowly walking back the palace, wet to the bone; Treville watched with a measure of pity as he watched his shoulders slump a little as he turned and made his slippy way back to the King, his mallet hanging dejectedly from one hand.

'What I wouldn't do for a mulled wine about now...' He muttered wistfully to the Cardinal, not entirely caring whether the other man answered him or not. He sniffled and blew into his gloves hands as another peal of thunder erupted above their heads.

'This is folly- we are all going to catch our deaths if we stay out here any longer...' The Cardinal growled a few minutes later; his face did have a blue tinge to it, Treville noticed as he turned his head to face him.

'By all means let the King know, I am sure he would be happy to forfeit his game for you to warm yourself up.' he replied, eyebrow quirked as the Cardinal gave him a look.

'No thank you.' he said stiffly, standing up straighter. Treville snorted and was about to turn his face away again when he saw the other man's facial expression change from one of boredom to one of alarmed alertness.

'What?' he asked, before turning to look in the direction the Cardinal was looking in- further down the Palace grounds, near a copse of thick trees and the King's personal outbuildings, the low hanging white mist was almost impenetrable to the naked eye, but now Treville squinted through the rain he could make out a large dark shape, getting darker and darker with each passing second.

He put a hand on his blade, his heart beginning to race as his mind jumped immediately to thieves, or some other person with dishonest intentions.

A flash of lightening and the accompanying thunderclap made the whole croquet party jump; the King crying out in alarm as the rain seemed to hammer down more. Treville and the Cardinal, however, paid no interest-both men stared as the shape now was beginning to take shape, into three distinct blocks of shadows.

'That's not one person...' The Cardinal muttered to his counterpart, squinting into the mist. 'Is that-?'

'Stay with the King- get him inside' Treville ordered the other man, who nodded once and walked to the King, arms out as he began to usher the group into the relative confines of the patios near the Palace doors.

Frowning, Treville began to walk down the muddy grounds and towards the dark shapes; as his eyes became accustomed to the shapes he could now pick out features of the three shadows; his heart dropped into his stomach and he began to run as his mind connected the dots and he realised who he was looking at.

'Athos? Porthos?' he shouted, sheathing his blade as he almost slipped in the mud as he ran faster down the hill, eyes wide as he passed through the mist and could finally see his men- Athos and Porthos were supporting a slumped figure between them, his head low and his feet barely touching the ground.

'My God...' he cried as he came to a stop before them, looking down in dismay as he recognised Aramis between the other two. 'Is he-'

'He's alive.' Athos gasped out, eyes wide as he pushed his sopping hair from them. His teeth chattered as Treville took his place supporting Aramis; he came round to Porthos' side to help support the Medic's weight. 'A tree came down in the storm, blocking the route to the city- we had to leave the horses and walk the last three miles by foot,' he explained as the three men dragged Aramis up the grounds to the Palace.

'We knew this was a shortcut- we couldn't really see in this damned mist. We didn't realise we had come into the grounds.' Athos added, a note of apology in his voice.

'It's alright, the King didn't notice.' Treville waved away the concern. He looked across to Aramis, who had now started groaning between them; his face was white as fresh paper, yet he looked to be nearly on death's door.

'It's alright, you're home now...' Treville whispered to him, wiping his hair from his face as they continued walking up the grounds.

'We tried to keep his wounds covered as best we could, but the rain soaked the bandages on his arms- I fear an infection has started in the wounds.' Athos said, voice almost lost amongst the wind and the rain.

'We will get him seen too, don't worry,' Treville promised, eyes creased in concern as Aramis slipped and almost fell into the mud, had they not been holding him.

'Thought we'd lost him about a mile back...' Porthos muttered, voice cracking. 'He collapsed on us and I thought...' he trailed off, swallowing hard.

'He's going to be well looked after, Porthos,' Treville assured him, heart still hammering in his chest. They looked up as they walked through the last of the mist and into the main grounds of the Palace, to where the King and the croquet party were still huddled,watching them walk towards them.

'I told him to get the King inside...' Treville cursed as he watched the Cardinal glide towards them, eyes creased in uncharacteristic concern. 'I have ordered a cart be brought to the palace to transport him to the hospital.' he said, eyes sweeping over each man and finally resting on Aramis.

'He is alive, I take it?' he added, voice low.

'Just about.' Porthos muttered, before the three men lowered him down to the sodden grass, their arms aching.

'Why is the King not inside?' Treville asked as he shrugged off his coat and placed it over Aramis' shoulders to help keep off some of the chill before the cart arrived.

'Naturally he wanted to know why the Captain of his Musketeers was running full-pelt down the grounds towards what he called "certain death."' The Cardinal shrugged, trying not to roll his eyes. 'I was powerless to stop him.'

At this Treville did roll his eyes, yet his eyes then widened as, after looking down at Aramis again, the Cardinal then proceeded to take off his own thick cloak and drape it over his shaking body.

'What?' He asked as he straightened up, sniffing in the sudden cold. 'It's wool; it will keep in his body heat before he gets to the hospital.'

His facial expression seemed to harden slightly as Athos raised an eyebrow but said nothing. 'I lost over five good men to Dumont too, if you would care to remember, Treville.' he growled to the Captain. 'I remember what that felt like.' He continued, voice hard as steel; Athos suddenly averted his eyes, instead busying himself with Aramis' newly acquired coverings to avoid the Cardinal's intense glare. 'I also expect it back, freshly washed and dried.' he added icily, before he made to turn away and walk back up to the King.

'Thank you.' Treville called back to him- without breaking stride the Cardinal turned his head and nodded once, before continuing up to where the King was now staring, eyes wide.

Athos looked up at they heard the snickering of a horse coming towards them. 'The cart is here.' he said, before all three men stooped to help Aramis up and over to the cart- it was a small wooden contraption and it became clear that there was only space for one person to accompany Aramis to the hospital- Porthos clambered up next to his friend, draping an arm over his chest to stop Aramis from falling off the side.

'We'll be there as soon as we can.' Treville promised, before tapping the cart with the handle of his blade to signal it could move. Athos and Porthos shared a look as it jolted back into life; soon it too was swallowed by the mist as it made its way slowly to the hospital.

'Athos,' Treville started as the two of them made their way along the outskirts of the palace grounds and out of a side entrance; it was the quickest route to the hospital. 'What happened to Astor Dumont?'

'Dead.' Athos said, voice hard.

Treville nodded, relief flowing through him. 'Good- Athos, I just wanted to say-'

'Not now.' Athos cut across him, although his facial expression was soft. 'Our priority should be Aramis now. We have him back, and that is what matters- everything else can wait,' he said. 'Sir.' he added, to which Treville snorted in reply to-the two of them now walked in silence in the direction of the hospital, both their hearts hoping that Aramis would be alright, that everything was now over and they could rebuild their friend into the man he used to be...

 **Thank you for reading! Much more to come!**


	14. Chapter 14

_The tang of old, wet cement and brick dust caught in his nose as he stumbled in the darkened cellar- drops of water plinked onto his shoulder as he slowly made his way to the steep wooden steps. Every breath was torture; his shoulder muscles contracted painfully where it had dislocated. He hitched in a breath as he heard the hoot of an owl outside. He didnt know what time it was-perhaps it was midnight, or a bit later. Time seemed to have no meaning here._

 _He slowly ascended the stairs, his fingers grazing agonisingly against the walls as the damp, old wood creaked ominously with each step he took. He had to get out. He had to get out of this place._

 _Finally at the top, he reached forwards to grasp the doorknob- frowning, his fingers scrabbled on plain wood. There was no doorknob._

 _'No.. no...' he whimpered, eyes creasing as he shook his head, tears welling. 'No...'_

 _He looked up suddenly as he heard rapid, creaking footsteps- he tried to step backwards as the noise got impossibly louder. With one loud bang the door was thrust open, hitting him in the chest and sending him teetering backwards, until with a garbled yelp he felt himself falling backwards into the darkness..._

'Aramis! Aramis wake up!' Athos cried as he crossed the hospital room floor, his eyes wide as he gently shook his friend's arm as Aramis thrashed round in his covers, eyes squeezed shut as the nightmare plagued him.

'Aramis you need to wake up!' Athos repeated, shaking him harder. 'Aramis!'

With a start and a soft yelp Aramis did wake up; it looked to Athos that he had not slept a wink for the entire night he had been in the hospital.

'It's alright, you're alright...' he assured him, keeping a firm hand on his friend's forearm as Aramis breathed heavily and looked around, before his eyes finally settled on the other man.

'Where am I?' he asked, voice scratchy.

'In hospital. You collapsed on the way home,' Athos said quietly, before he turned and pulled a rickety wooden chair closer towards the bed his friend was lying in. 'We thought we'd lost you in the night. The wounds on your left arm got infected...' He rubbed a tired hand down his own face. He hadn't yet been home himself- he had been up all night watching over Aramis. Porthos and Treville had gone to the Garrison at first light to help with the day's missions, but they promised they'd be back to see him soon.

'Oh..' Aramis settled back in the bed, flexing all his muscles; he hissed in pain as his shoulder flared in agony.

'The matrons have sorted that out as well,' Athos nodded to his arm. 'Whoever put it back did a good job, they said.'

Aramis snorted at that, before his eyes flickered shut again. 'I'm so glad I'm home.' he said through a large, tired sigh.

Athos settled back into his chair, a tired smile on his own face. 'Me too, my friend...' he muttered, shaking his head. There was silence for a few minutes as each man sank into his own thoughts, before Athos cleared his throat. Aramis opened his eyes and looked across to his friend. 'Are you alright?' he asked, eyes creased with worry for his friend.

'Me?' Athos chuckled. 'I'm fine- it's you we need to look after.'

Aramis smiled at that; he looked down at his freshly bandaged hand- he wondered how long it took nails to grow back to their previous length.

'So...what happened? With Dumont?' Athos asked quietly. He noticed at once how Aramis stiffened at the mere mention of his name; how his eyes immediately widened as if anticipating danger.

'I...' he whispered. How to even begin. He scrabbled around for an answer; he had no words to even to begin to describe what he had endured, least of all the motivation to do so. His mind flicked back to the blood, to the pain, to the tincture-

He froze mid-breath, his heart plummeting. He was in hospital- he looked down and saw the fresh white linen underclothes the matrons had dressed him in. Where were his clothes?

'Aramis, are you ok?' Athos asked, slightly alarmed as he watched his friend tense up, a look of horror on his face. 'What's wrong?'

'N-nothing.' Aramis gave him a tight smile, his heart thumping; he felt a drop of sweat drip down his face. Where were his clothes?

'Are you sure? You don't look well.'

'Just tired...' Aramis replied, looking around. 'Where are my clothes? He asked lightly.

'They're on the chair over there.' Athos pointed. 'They're wet and dirty- I can go and wash them and bring them back for you?'

'No, no that's fine...I'm not staying here anyway...' Aramis replied, clearing his throat resolutely.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean I'm leaving now-I want to go home and be in my own bed in my own space.' Aramis muttered, sitting up and swinging his legs to the side.

'Aramis, you're in no fit state to- Aramis sit back down; you're not well!' Athos stammered, watching with wide eyes as Aramis stood up shakily, face set in a hardened expression he couldn't read.

'I'm going home, Athos.' he said, eyes narrowed. 'I need to go home- surely you can understand?'

'Of course I can, but-'

'I don't need your permission to go home.'

'I know you don't, but I think you should stay here and rest, that's all.'

'I can rest in my own bed- pass me my clothes.'

'But they're wet and d-'

'Damn you, stop arguing and just do it!' Aramis snapped- the men looked at each other for a moment, before Aramis looked down, guilt filling him immediately. He shrank backwards, eyes filling with tears of remorse. 'I'm sorry, Athos.' he whispered. 'I...Please forgive me.'

Athos stepped forwards and enveloped his friend in an embrace, frowning as his arms felt ribs and bones where once it would have been well-nourished flesh. 'You have been through something terrible, my friend.' He whispered; he sighed as he felt Aramis sink into his embrace.'You need to recover. And if you can do it better at home I will not stand in your way.'

Aramis nodded mutely, fighting the conflicting emotions in his chest. _Oh Athos_. He thought to himself. _If only you knew. If only I was brave enough to tell you._

Standing up straighter he gave his friend a wet smile, shaking his head. 'I was so sure you weren't going to come. I thought I was truly alone...' he admitted in a low voice.

Athos shook his own head, frowning. 'We would never have given up on finding you. Never.'

'I know that now, my friend. You will never know how thankful I am to know that.' Aramis nodded, before he took a deep breath and turned to pick up his clothes. Picking up his trousers he felt relief wash over him as he felt the vials in the pocket. At least they hadn't been discovered.

'I'll leave you to get dressed.' Athos said from behind him, before he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

'Are you sure you won't let me accompany you home?'

'I'll be fine, I promise.' Aramis replied, giving his friend a smile as early morning wind hit their faces and made his eyes water. 'Its not far.'

'Alright. I don't want you to shout at me again so I won't argue with you.' Athos teased, grateful that Aramis was now smiling.

'I am sorry for that...'

'I know, I'm joking- I will check on you in the evening, and I daresay the Captain and Porthos will drop by at some point.'

At this Aramis smiled again. 'That'll be nice,' he nodded, before he took a deep, pained breath. His hands shook and he felt on edge; he fought back the nausea as Athos put a hand on his shoulder, nodding at him. 'Just go and rest- Treville asked me to tell you to take as much time as you need,' He said.

'That's nice of him.' Aramis replied with a smile, before he gave his friend a final nod and turned to walk home.

Athos watched him go, an uneasy feeling in his chest. Aramis worried him; something wasn't right, he was sure of it... perhaps he was jut tired and overwhelmed with what had happened, he told himself. Shrugging, he turned and started walking in the opposite direction, towards the Garrison- he would check on his friend before he went home, he told himself. He hoped he would be alright until then...

* * *

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **Thank you for also sticking with this story- I have the whole rest of this fic planned out, with at least another 4 chapters to come :)**

 **Please review! X**


	15. Chapter 15

Athos and Porthos walked slowly over the cobbled streets towards Aramis' lodgings, their scarves pulled tight around their faces as an autumn wind blew harshly along the twilight streets.

'Do you reckon we should have got a bigger basket?' Porthos asked the other man, nodding down at the large, over-laden wicker basket that held all manner of treats such as tarts, wine and buns for their friend. Athos quirked an eyebrow as he too looked down at the over-filled basket, before he smiled and shrugged. 'I'm sure he will appreciate it.' He replied, before they crossed a road and entered the courtyard leading to Aramis' rooms.

Their friend had been home from the infirmary for a week now, on strict bedrest for the first four days to allow his body to start to heal, but now he was allowed to wander around his rooms on the orders he didn't venture too far outside; the matron had told him sternly that the infection in his arms had made his body more susceptible for further illness, so he should spend a lot of his time resting and recuperating before doing a lot of physical activity.

The two of them had made sure they visited as much as they could- it was a busy period up at the palace, with all manner of dignitaries visiting the King, alongside meetings and official business that the Musketeers had to supervise. It had been hard to find time to keep visiting Aramis but they had managed to pop in once or twice a day for around five minutes just to check in to make sure that he was still resting; Athos knew how he would feel if he were stuck in his rooms without being able to do anything.

Each time Athos had seen their friend he had become more and more worried; he would have expected Aramis to start looking stronger, healthier- instead the shadows under his eyes had worsened and his skin still held a pallid colour that made him look very ill. Yet each time he had asked if he was alright, Aramis would give him a smile and wave his concern away, not quite meeting his eye as he jovially told him he was fine, just a bit tired.

They knocked on Aramis' door before opening and stepping inside the over-warm room; they looked across to the armchair that they knew they would find their friend (Aramis loathed recuperating in a bed.)

'Afternoon, Mis.' Athos nodded, placing the basket on the small wooden table by the window. 'We got you some presents.'

'Yeah, we thought you needed fattening up!' Porthos replied with a chuckle. Aramis smiled and looked across to the basket, before he looked up at his friends- Athos' smile froze as he saw Aramis looked quite ill; the way the light caught his features accentuated the bags under his eyes, and the pale sheen on his face.

'Are you alright?' he asked, his concern evident in his voice. 'You look terrible.'

'Thank you very much!' Aramis chuckled, wiping a hand down his stubbled face. He really should shave, he mused as he sat back in his chair. 'I haven't been sleeping very well. Its the boredom- I spend so much of my time inactive that when I go to bed I just can't sleep.'

'Ah, I see- you need to rest though, you still look very weak,' Athos caught Porthos' eye, who nodded minutely in agreement. 'You don't look like you've been eating too well, either.'

'I haven't had much of an appetite to tell you the truth.'

'But you need to try.'

'I know...I know...' Aramis gave them another smile- he picked up his wine glass and took a sip, resting his cup on his knee.

'Why are your hands shaking so much?' Porthos asked, nodding at Aramis' rapidly shaking hand that held his cup. 'Are you cold?'

'Perhaps a little,' Aramis replied, putting his wine glass down and clamping his hand over his armrest, forcing it to be still.

'I'll get this fire going...' Porthos muttered, before getting to work as Athos went across and sat opposite his friend.

'Are you sure you're alright?' he asked quietly, trying to hide his frown. 'There are people you can talk to about what happened to you, Porthos and I-'

'I don't want to talk to anyone, thank you.' Aramis replied, harsher than he would have liked. He softened as Athos sat back. 'I just want to get better and forget about it. I want to get back to work- I'm no good just sat here all day.'

'You went through an ordeal- you need to recuperate.' Athos nodded with a small shrug. 'You don't need to feel- or be- alone.'

'I know.' Aramis smiled across at him, his face hidden in shadows; it made his eyes look sunken, Athos thought to himself. 'Thank you.'

'The fire is all done.' Porthos called as he stood up, wiping his hands. He put a hand on Aramis' shoulder and squeezed lightly; he almost balked at the boniness. 'You should be feeling a lot warmer soon.'

'You are too good to me, Porthos.'

'Nah, it's just because I love you, mate.' Porthos grinned, before pouring himself a glass of wine and taking a large gulp. Aramis laughed at that, his eyes lighting up in a way that made Athos' heart soar for a few seconds.

'We shall drop by tomorrow afternoon.' he said as he and Porthos gathered their belongings to prepare to leave. 'We've just got weapon cleaning tomorrow.'

'I look forward to it.' Aramis nodded, before he walked slowly over to the door to bid them goodbye.

As he shut the door he breathed out slowly, resting his head on the cool wood and closing his eyes as he listened to his friend's footsteps walk down the gravel path to the streets outside. He put a hand into his trouser pocket, his heart sinking again as he once more felt and heard the rattle of the two empty bottles of tincture.

He had run out of the liquid that morning, and had found himself feeling more and more ill as the hours passed; he presumed this was why he was shaking so much and there was an ever rising tide of nausea in his stomach. He pushed himself away from the door, rubbing his temples as a headache settled behind his eyes.

He needed more, he knew- he had to take this pain away. But where? He had no idea where he would find any more of the tincture; he presumed an infirmary would have stock, but there was no way he would even think of walking into an infirmary and asking a matron for it.

He sat down heavily in his chair and took another large gulp of wine, swirling the remnants in his mouth as he looked through the window and the rapidly darkening sky. He looked down as his shaking hands, his heart sinking as he watched his leg jiggle up and down, no matter how hard he tried to quell the movements.

A thought suddenly crossed his mind; he hated himself for even thinking about it, but he couldn't think of any other option; at least he would be in familiar surroundings, but if he got caught... he pushed the thought from his mind as he pulled on his coat and quickly walked outside, grateful for the darkness that the winter was bringing.

* * *

The door to the Garrison was thankfully shut when he made his way over- he knew the training area shut down early on Thursdays so they could get ready for Friday parade at the palace, but there was always one or two stragglers that stayed into the night sometimes.

He opened the door as quietly as he could, peering around the darkened space beyond; no one was here. Breathing a sigh of releif, he closed the door behind him and made his way to the armoury. There was a small medicine cabinet that was stocked with emergency medical supplies, such as bandaged, antiseptic solutions and tinctures; he stocked it himself, so he knew there would be a small supply. No one ever used the medicine cabinet, but it was good to have, just in case.

He just needed another dose, no more than that, he told himself; once he felt better again he wouldn't need it...

Closing the door to the armoury behind him he quickly walked to the small wooden box, making sure to keep his eye out for anyone walking past that could see him; he stopped dead as he realised what a stupid error he had made in his haste to get the tincture- the box was locked.

Sighing angrily, he stood still as another wave of sickness washed over him. How could he be so stupid... he berated himself as he walked back outside and up the wooden steps towards Treville's office. Anxiety now settled in his chest, alongside shame and frustration; they mixed together sickeningly, like three tigers fighting for control.

Treville normally worked late into the night, but with a sigh of releif Aramis saw there was no candlelight in his office; he opened the door, screwing his face up as it opened with a loud creak.

He quickly crossed the dark room and stood behind the Captain's desk; he was sure it was in one of these drawers somewhere... he remembered watching as Treville placed the key in the left hand side drawer, but there was three drawers to choose. He hated rifling through drawers, especially those of people important to him; thankfully the key was in the top drawer- he slipped it into his pocket and quickly made his way back down the stairs and into the armoury.

Opening the box he felt his heart soar as his eyes fell on the singular vial of tincture; it was a bit bigger than the bottles he had had before, so that hopefully meant he could make this last longer. Stowing it in his pocket he quickly put the box away, before he took a deep breath and crossed the dark room- opening the door he closed it as quickly as he could.

'Aramis?' A voice called in the darkness. 'Is that you?'

Eyes wide, Aramis forced himself to calm his racing heart before turning around, coming face to face with Treville, who had a concerned look in his eyes.

'Sir,' he nodded, giving him a smile. 'It's good to see you.'

'What are you doing here at this hour?' the Captain asked, looking his friend and musketeer up and down.'You should be resting- you look terrible.'

'Thank you Sir,' Aramis chuckled, before averting his eyes as Treville continued to frown at him. 'I-I was just coming in to get a report, you see. Need something to do.' He garbled.

'You could have asked Athos or Porthos to send you work- not that we need you to do anything at all.' Treville replied.

'Oh no, I didn't want to bother them over this, its trivial, really...'

'Well- next time, let us know and we can arrange something. You look like you were up to no good, skulking around in the dark!' He chuckled, putting a hand on Aramis' shoulder.

'Me? Never, Sir,' Aramis replied, hating himself for saying it.

'Of course, come on, why don't I walk out with you?' Treville said, steering Aramis away from the armoury and back towards the exit. He cleared his throat as the two of them walked in silence.

'Listen, Aramis, I was going to come and visit you at home, to see how you are- I just wanted...' his voice trailed off, before he sighed and continued. 'I want you to know how glad I am that you're home and safe. Astor, what he-' he stopped as he felt Aramis stiffen at the name.

'Could we talk about this another time, Sir?' Aramis said in a quiet voice, looking over to him with wide eyes.

'Of course, I shouldn't have mentioned it.' Treville nodded, before they continued to walk to the door.

Aramis was just about to let himself be manoeuvred back towards home when he realised the key to the medicine box was still in his pocket. 'Actually-' he stopped dead, giving his Captain a smile. 'I need just a few more minutes to gather my things; I was going through some of my reports just to refresh my memory, but I have left them all on the table-'

'Don't you worry about that, I can get a recruit to tidy-'

'I would prefer to do it myself. I have a system, you see.' Aramis said quickly, hoping he didn't look as panicked as he felt inside. 'I don't even let Athos or Porthos tidy my work- its a very particular order.'

'I see- well, I can come-'

'I don't need watching, I am perfectly capable of doing things myself!' Aramis butted in, before his eyes widened. 'Sorry Sir, I apologise for my tone.' He said, voice low.

'Are you sure you're alright?' Treville peered at his friend, concern in his eyes. 'Anything you want to talk about?'

'I'm fine Sir, I assure you. I- I'm just tired, but I need to feel useful.' Aramis sighed heavily. 'I can't just sit around.'

'Alright, as long as you're sure- I'll leave you in peace. Just pull the door closed as you leave.'

'I will Sir.' Aramis dropped his head, smiling sadly as Treville nodded and turned to leave; as Aramis watched his shadow disappear into the night before he quickly walked up to his office; dropping the key back into the drawer he closed his eyes as the anxiety tore at his chest like a beast.

No more, he vowed. Just this one bottle, then no more. He couldn't do this anymore.

Sighing deeply once more, he quickly made his way down the steps again and made his way out of the Garrison, shutting the door quietly behind him.

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